CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  I- 


PASTORALS,— Spring    ....     Page    39 

Summer         .......42 

Autumn     .......         45 

Winter 48 

Messiah,  A  sacred  Eclogue  ...         51 

Windsor  Forest          ......    54 

Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  1708      -  -         66 

Two  Chorusses,  to  the  Tragedy  of  Brutus         -    70 

Ode  on  Solitude  72 

The  Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul        -  -     73 

An  Essay  on  Criticism  ....         74 

Rape  of  the  Lock  -        -        -        -        -     95 

Elegy  to  the  Memory  of  an  Unfortunate  Lady  118 
Prologue  to  Mr.  Addison's  Tragedy  of  Cato  -  120 
Epilogue  to  Mr.  Rowe's  Jane  Shore  -  122 

Sappho  to  Phaon  .....  123 

Eloisa  to  Abelard 131 

The  Temple  of  Fame 141 

January  and  May  .....        155 

The  Wife  of  Bath,  her  Prologue  -        -  177 

Thebais  of  Statius 189 

The  Fable  of  Dryope 213 

Vertumnus  and  Pomona        ....       216 

'mitations  of  English  Poets, — Chaucer      -        -  220 

Spenser  ......         jb. 

Waller 222 

Cowley  223 

Earl  of  Rochester — on  Silence  -        -  225 

Earl  of  Dorset, — Artemisia  -        -  226 

Phryne  227 

Dr.  Swift, — Happy  Life  of  a  Country  Parson     ib 


2032506 


CONTENTS. 

An  Essay  on  Man,  -        .       -       Page     228 

Epistle    I.  230 

Epistle  IL  -  239 

Epistle  III.         ...         -247 
Epistle  IV.  ....  256 

The  Universal  Prayer 268 

Moral  Essays, 

Epistle  I.    To  Sir  Richard  Temple        -        -  272 
II.  To  a  Lady  -       281 

lit.  To  Allen,  Lord  Bathurst      -        -  289 
IV.  To  Richard  Boyle,  Earl  of 

Burlington          ...       301 
V  To  Mr.  Addison  -  308 


THE   LIFE 

OF 

ALEXANDER  POPE 


THIS  illustrious  poet  was  born  at  London  in  1688 
and  was  descended  from  a  good  family  of  tnat  name 
in  Oxfordshire,  the  head  of  which  was  the  Earl  of 
Downe,  whose  sole  heiress  married  the  Earl  of 
Lindsey.  His  father,  a  man  of  primitive  simplicity 
and  integrity  of  manners,  was  a  merchant  of  London, 
who,  upon  the  Revolution,  quitted  trade,  and  con 
verted  his  effects  into  money,  amounting  to  near 
10,OOOL  with  which  he  retired  into  the  country  ;  and 
died  in  1717,  at  the  age  of  seventy-five. 

Our  poet's  mother,  who  lived  to  a  very  advanced 
age,  being  ninety-three  years  old  when  she  died,  in 
1733,  was  the  daughter  of  William  Turner,  Esq.  of 
York.  She  had  three  brothers,  one  of  whom  was 
killed,  another  died  in  the  service  of  King  Charles  ; 
and  the  eldest,  following  his  fortunes,  and  becoming 
a  general  officer  in  Spain,  left  her  what  estate  re 
mained  after  sequestration  and  forfeitures  of  her  fa 
mily.  To  these  circumstances  our  poet  alludes  in 
his  Epistles  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  in  which  he  mentions 
his  parents  : 

Of  gentle  blood  (patl  shed  in  honour's  cause, 

While  yet  in  Britain  honour  had  applause) 

Each  parent  sprang— What  fortune,  pray1?— their  own  ; 

And  better  got  than  Bcstia's  from  the  throne. 

Born  to  no  pride,  inheriting  no  strife, 

Nor  marrying  discord  in  a  noble  wife ; 

Stranger  to  civil  and  religious  rage, 

The  good  man  walk'd  innoxious  through  his  age  : 


n  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

No  courts  he  saw,  no  suits  would  ever  try; 
Nor  dared  an  oath,  nor  hazarded  a  lie: 
Unlearn'd,  he  knew  no  schoolman's  subtle  arl, 
No  language  hut  the  language  of  the  heart; 
By  nature  honest,  by  experience  wise, 
Healthy  by  temp'rance  and  by  exercise, 
His  life,  though  long,  to  sickness  pass'd  unknown  ; 
His  death  was  instant,  and  without  a  groan. 

The  education  of  our  great  author  was  attended 
with  circumstances  very  singular,  and  some  of  them 
extremely  unfavourable ;  but  the  amazing  force  of 
his  genius  fully  compensated  the  want  of  any  advan 
tage  in  his  earliest  instruction.  He  owed  the  know 
ledge  of  his  letters  to  an  aunt;  and  having  learned 
very  early  to  read,  took  great  delight  in  it,  and 
taught  himself  to  write  by  copying  after  printed 
books,  the  characters  of  which  lie  would  imitate  to 
great  perfection.  He  began  to  compose  verses  far 
ther  back  than  he  could  well  remember ;  and  at  eight 
years  of  age,  when  he  was  put  under  one  Taverner, 
a  prieat,  who  taught  him  the  rudiments  of  the  Latin 
and  Greek  tongues  at  the  same  time,  he  met  with 
Ogilby's  Homer,  which  gave  him  great  delight ;  and 
this  was  increased  by  Sandy's  Ovid.  The  raptures 
which  these  authors,  even  in  the  disguise  of  such 
translations,  then  yielded  him,  were  so  strong,  that 
he  spoke  of  them  with  pleasure  ever  after.  From 
Mr.  Taverner's  tuition  he  was  sent  to  a  private  schooi 
at  Twyford,  near  Winchester,  where  he  continued 
about  a  year,  and  was  then  removed  to  another  near 
Hyde  Park  Corner;  but  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose 
under  his  two  last  masters  what  he  had  acquired 
jndor  the  first. 

While  he  remained  at  this  school,  being  permitted 
to  go  to  the  playhouse  with  some  of  his  school 
fellows  of  a  more  advanced  age,  he  was  so  charmed 
with  dramatic  re-presentations,  that  he  formed  the 
translation  of  the  Iliad  into  a  play,  from  rcvcr.il  of 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  vn 

llx  »peechto  in  Ogilby's  translation,  connected  with 
vei»es  of  his  own ;  and  the  several  parts  were  per 
formed  by  the  upper  boys  of  the  school,  except  that 
of  Ajax  by  the  master's  gardener.  At  the  age  of 
twelve  our  young  poet  went  to  his  father,  to  reside 
at  his  house  at  Binfield,  in  Windsor  Forest,  where 
he  was,  for  a  few  months,  under  the  tuition  of 
another  priest,  with  as  little  success  as  before ;  so 
that  he  resolved  now  to  become  his  own  master,  by 
reading  those  classic  writers  which  gave  him  most 
entertainment ;  and  by  this  method,  at  fifteen  he 
gained  a  ready  habit  in  the  learned  languages,  to 
which  he  soon  after  added  the  French  and  Italian. 
Upon  his  retreat  to  the  forest,  he  became  first  ac 
quainted  with  the  writings  of  Waller,  Spenser,  and 
Dryden;  in  the  last  of  which  he  immediately  found 
what  he  wanted,  and  the  poems  of  that  excellent 
writer  were  never  out  of  his  hands;  they  became  his 
model,  and  from  them  alone  he  learned  the  whole 
magic  of  his  versification. 

The  first  of  our  author's  compositions  now  extant 
in  print,  is  an  Ode  on  Solitude,  written  before  he 
was  twelve  years  old;  which,  considered  as  the  pro 
duction  of  so  early  an  age,  is  a  perfect  master-piece  ; 
nor  need  he  be  ashamed  of  it  had  it  been  written  in 
the  meridian  of  his  genius  ;  while  it  breathes  the  most 
delicate  spirit  of  poetry,  it  at  the  same  time  demon 
strates  his  love  of  solitude,  and  the  rational  pleasures 
which  attend  the  retreats  of  a  contented  country  life 

Two  years  after  this  he  translated  the  First  Book 
of  Statius's  Thebais,  and  wrote  a  copy  of  verses  on 
Silence,  in  imitation  of  the  Earl  of  Rochester's  Poem 
on  Nothing.  Thus  we  find  him  no  sooner  capable 
of  holding  the  pen  than  he  employed  it  in  writing 
verses : 

"  lie  lisp'd  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came." 

Though  we  have  had  frequent  opportunity  to  ob 
serve  that  poets  have  given  early  displays  of  geniui 


nii  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

yet  we  cannot  recollect  that  amongst  the  inspired 
tribe  one  can  be  found  who,  at  the  age  of  twelve, 
could  produce  so  animated  an  ode,  or  at  the  age  of 
fourteen,  translate  from  the  Latin.  It  had  been  re 
ported,  indeed,  concerning  Mr.  Dryden,  that  when  he 
was  at  Westminster  school,  the  master,  who  has  as 
signed  a  poetical  task  to  some  of  the  boys  of  writing 
a  paraphrase  on  our  Saviour's  miracle  of  turning  wa 
ter  into  wine,  was  perfectly  astonished  when  young 
Dryden  presented  him  with  the  following  line,  which 
he  asserted  was  the  best  comment  could  be  written 
upon  it : 

The  conscious  waler  saw  its  God  ami  blush'd. 

This  was  the  only  instance  of  an  early  appearance 
of  genius  in  this  great  man,  for  he  was  turned  of 
thirty  before  he  acquired  any  reputation :  an  age  in 
which  Mr.  Pope's  was  in  its  full  distinction. 

The  year  following  that  in  which  Mr.  Pope  wrote 
his  poem  on  Silence,  he  began  an  epic  poem,  entitled 
Alcander,  which  he  afterwards  very  judiciously  com 
mitted  to  the  flames,  as  he  did  likewise  a  comedy  and 
a  tragedy,  the  latter  taken  from  a  story  in  the  legend 
of  St.  Genevieve,  both  of  these  being  the  product  of 
those  early  days;  but  his  Pastorals,  which  were  writ. 
ten  in  1704,  when  he  was  only  sixteen  years  of 
age,  were  esteemed  by  Sir  William  Tnimbal,  Mr 
Granville,  Mr.  Wycherley,  Mr.  Walsh,  and  other  of 
his  friends,  too  valuable  to  be  condemned  to  the 
same  fate. 

The  three  great  writers  of  pastoral  dialogue,  which 
Mr.  Pope,  in  some  measure,  seems  to  imitate,  are 
Theocritus,  Virgil,  artd  Spenser;  Mr.  Pope  is  of 
opinion  that  Theocritus  excels  all  others  in  nature 
and  simplicity. 

That  Virgil,  who  copies  Theocritus,  refines  on  his 
original ;  and  in  all  points  in  which  judgment  has  the 
principal  part,  is  much  sut>erior  to  his  master. 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  ix 

That  among  the  moderns,  their  success  has  been 
greatest  who  have  most  endeavoured  to  make  these 
ancients  their  pattern.  The  most  considerable  genius 
appears  in  the  famous  Tasso,  and  our  Spenser.  Tasso, 
in  his  Aminta,  as  far  excelled  all  pastoral  writers,  as 
in  his  Gierusalemme,  he  has  outdone  the  epic  poets 
of  his  own  country.  But  as  this  piece  seems  to  have 
been  the  original  of  a  new  sort  of  poem,  the  pastoral 
comedy  in  Italy,  it  cannot  so  well  be  considered  as 
a  copy  of  the  ancients.  Spenser's  Calender,  in  Mr. 
Dryden's  opinion,  is  the  most  complete  work  of  this 
kind  which  any  nation  has  produced  ever  since  the 
time  of  Virgil ;  but  this  he  said  before  Mr.  Pope's 
Pastorals  appeared. 

Mr.  Walsh  pronounces  on  our  Shepherd's  boy  (as 
Mr.  Pope  called  himself,)  the  following  judgment,  in 
a  letter  to  Mr.  Wycherley : 

"  The  verses  are  very  tender  and  easy.  The  Au 
thor  seems  to  have  a  particular  genius  for  that  kind 
of  poetry,  and  a  judgment  that  much  exceeds  the 
years  you  told  me  he  was  of.  It  is  no  flattery  at  all 
to  say  that  Virgil  had  written  nothing  so  good  at  his 
age.  I  shall  take  it  as  a  favour  if  you  will  bring  me 
acquainted  with  him ;  and  if  he  will  give  himself  the 
trouble,  any  morning,  to  call  at  my  house,  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  read  the  verses  with  him,  and  give  him 
my  opinion  of  the  particulars  more  largely  than  I 
can  well  do  in  this  letter." 

Thus  early  was  Mr.  Pope  introduced  to  the  ac 
quaintance  of  men  of  genius,  and  so  improved  every 
advantage,  that  he  made  a  more  rapid  progress  to 
wards  a  consummation  in  fame  than  any  of  our  for 
mer  English  poets.  His  Messiah,  his  Windsor  Fo 
rest,  (the  first  part  of  which  was  written  at  the  same 
time  with  his  pastorals)  his  Essay  on  Criticism  in 
1709,  and  his  Rape  of  the  Lock  in  1712,  established 
his  poetical  character  in  such  a  manner  that  he  waa 
called  upon  by  the  public  voice  to  enrich  our  Ian- 


LIFE  OF  POPE. 

guage  with  the  translation  of  the  Iliad,  which  he  be. 
gan  at  twenty-five,  and  executed  in  five  years.  This 
was  published  for  his  own  benefit,  by  subscription, 
the  only  kind  of  reward  which  he  received  for  hia 
writings,  which  do  honour  to  our  age  and  country,  his 
religion  rendering  him  incapable  of  a  place,  which 
the  Lord  Treasurer  Oxford  used  to  express  his  con 
cern  for,  but  without  offering  him  a  pension,  as  the 
Earl  of  Halifax  and  Mr.  Secretary  Craggs  afterwards 
did,  though  Mr.  Pope  declined  it. 

The  reputation  of  Mr.  Pope  gaining  every  day 
upon  the  world,  he  was  caressed,  flattered,  and  railed 
at,  according  as  he  was  feared  or  loved  by  different 
persons.  Mr.  Wycherley  was  among  the  first  au 
thors  of  established  reputation  who  contributed  to 
advance  his  fame,  and  with  whom  he  for  some  time 
lived  in  the  most  unreserved  intimacy.  This  poet  in 
nis  old  age,  conceived  a  design  of  publishing  his 
poems  ;  and  as  he  was  but  a  very  imperfect  master  of 
numbers,  he  intrusted  his  manuscripts  to  Mr.  Pope, 
and  submitted  them  to  his  corrections.  The  free 
dom  which  our  young  bard  was  under  a  necessity  to 
use,  in  order  to  polish  and  refine  what  was  in  the 
original  rough,  (inharmonious,  and  indelicate,  proved 
disgustful  to  the  old  gentleman,  then  near  seventy, 
who  perhaps  was  a  little  ashamed  that  a  boy  at  six 
teen  should  so  severely  correct  his  works.  Letters 
of  dissatisfaction  were  written  by  Mr.  Wycherley, 
and  at  last  he  informed  him,  in  few  words,  that  he 
was  going  out  of  town,  without  mentioning  to  what 
place,  and  did  not  expect  to  hear  from  him  till  he 
came  back.  This  cold  indifference  extorted  from 
Mr.  Pope  a  protestation,  that  nothing  should  induce 
him  ever  to  write  to  him  again.  Notwithstanding 
this  peevish  behaviour  of  Mr.  Wycherley,  occasioned 
by  jealousy  and  infirmities,  Mr.  Pope  preserved  a 
constant  respect  and  reverence  for  him  while  he 
lived,  and  •'Per  his  death  lamented  him.  In  a  letter 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  xi 

Lo  Edward  Blount,  Esq.  written  immediately  upon 
the  death  of  this  poet,  he  has  there  related  some 
anecdotes  of  Wycherley,  which  we  shall  here  insert. 

"  Dear  Sir, 

"  I  know  of  nothing  that  will  be  so  interesting  to 
you  at  present  as  some  circumstances  of  the  last  act 
of  that  eminent  comic  poet,  and  our  friend,  Wycher 
ley.  He  had  often  told  me,  as  I  doubt  not  he  did  all 
his  acquaintance,  that  he  would  marry  as  soon  as  his 
life  was  despaired  of;  accordingly,  a  few  days  before 
his  death  he  underwent  the  ceremony,  and  joined  to 
gether  those  two  sacraments,  which  wise  men  say 
should  be  the  last  we  receive ;  for,  if  you  observe, 
matrimony  is  placed  after  extreme  unction  in  our  ca 
techism,  as  a  kind  of  hint  as  to  the  order  of  time  in 
which  they  are  to  be  taken.  The  old  man  then  lay 
down  satisfied  in  the  conscience  of  having-,  by  this 
one  act,  paid  his  just  debts,  obliged  a  woman  who, 
he  was  told,  had  merit,  and  shown  an  heroic  resent 
ment  of  the  ill  usage  of  his  next  heir.  Some  hun 
dred  pounds  which  he  had  with  the  lady  discharged 
those  debts  ;  a  jointure  of  four  hundred  a  year  made 
her  a  recompense  ;  and  the  nephew  he  left  to  com 
fort  himself,  as  well  as  he  could,  with  the  miserable 
remains  of  a  mortgaged  estate.  I  saw  our  friend 
twice  after  this  was  done,  less  peevish  in  his  sickness 
than  he  used  to  be  in  his  health,  neither  much  afraid 
of  dying,  nor  (which  in  him  had  been  more  likely) 
much  ashamed  of  marrying.  The  evening  before  he 
expired  he  called  his  young  wife  to  the  bed-side,  and 
earnestly  entreated  her  not  to  deny  him  one  request, 
the  last  he  should  ever  make  :  upon  her  assurance  of 
of  consenting  to  it,  he  told  her,  '  My  dear,  it  is  only 
this,  that  you  will  never  marry  an  old  man  again.1  1 
rannot  help  remarking,  that  sickness,  which  often 
destroys  both  wit  and  wisdom,  yet  seldom  has  power 
to  remove  that  talent  we  call  humour  :  Mr.  Wycher- 


xii  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

ley  showed  this  even  in  this  last  compliment,  though 
I  think  his  request  a  little  hard  ;  for  why  should  he 
bar  her  from  doubling  her  jointure  on  the  same  easy 
terms." 

One  of  the  most  affecting  and  tender  compositions 
of  Mr.  Pope,  is  his  Elegy  to  the  Memory  of  an  Un 
fortunate  Lady,  built  on  a  true  story.  We  are  in 
formed  in  the  Life  of  Pope,  for  which  Curl  obtained 
a  patent,  that  this  young  lady  was  a  particular  fa 
vourite  of  the  poet,  though  it  is  not  ascertained 
whether  he  himself  was  the  person  from  whom  she 
was  removed.  This  young  lady  was  of  very  high 
birth,  possessed  an  opulent  fortune,  and  under  the 
tutorage  of  an  uncle,  who  gave  her  an  education 
suitable  to  her  titles  and  pretensions.  She  was  es 
teemed  a  match  for  the  greatest  peer  in  the  realm, 
but  in  her  early  years  she  suffered  her  heart  to  be  en 
gaged  by  a  young  gentleman,  and  in  consequence  of 
this  attachment,  rejected  offers  made  to  her  by  per 
sons  of  quality,  seconded  by  the  solicitations  of  her 
uncle.  Her  guardian,  being  surprised  at  this  beha 
viour,  set  spies  upon  her,  to  find  out  the  real  cause 
of  her  indifference.  Her  correspondence  with  her 
lover  was  soon  discovered,  and,  when  urged  upon 
that  topic,  she  had  too  much  truth  and  honour  to 
deny  it.  The  uncle  finding  that  she  would  make 
no  efforts  to  disengage  her  affection,  after  a  little 
time  forced  her  abroad,  where  she  was  received 
with  a  ceremony  due  to  her  quality,  but  restricted 
from  the  conversation  of  every  one  but  the  spies  of 
this  severe  guardian,  so  that  it  was  impossible  for  her 
lover  even  to  have  a  letter  delivered  into  her  hand?. 
She  languished  in  this  place  a  considerable  time, 
bore  an  infinite  deal  of  sickness,  and  was  over 
whelmed  with  the  profoundest  sorrow.  Nature  being 
wearied  out  with  continual  distress,  and  being  driven 
at  last  to  despair,  the  unfortunate  lady,  as  Mr.  Pope 
Justly  calls  her,  put  an  end  to  her  own  life,  having 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  xiii 

bribed  a  maid-servant  to  procure  her  a  sword.  She 
was  found  upon  the  ground  weltering  in  her  blood 
The  severity  of 'the  laws  of  the  place,  where  this  fair 
unfortunate  perished,  denied  her  Christian  burial, 
and  she  was  interred  without  solemnity,  or  even  any 
attendants  to  perform  the  last  offices  of  the  dead,  ex 
cept  some  young  people  of  the  neighbourhood,  who 
saw  her  put  into  common  ground,  and  strewed  the 
grave  wif.h  flowers. 

The  poet,  irr  the  Elegy,  takes  occasion  to  mingle 
with  the  tears  of  sorrow,  just  reproaches  upon  her 
cruel  uncle,  who  drove  her  to  this  violation. 

But  thou,  false  guardian  of  a  charge  too  good, 
Thou  base  betrayer  of  a  brother's  blood  ! 
See  on  those  ruby  lips  the  trembling  breath, 
Those  cheeks  now  failing  at  the  blast  of  death  : 
Lifeless  tho  breast  which  warm'd  the  world  before  ; 
And  those  love-darting  eyes  must  roll  no  more. 

The  conclusion  of  this  elegy  is  irresistibly  affecting. 

So  peaceful  rests,  without  a  stone,  a  name 
Which  once  had  beauty,  titles,  wealth  and  fame  ; 
How  lov'd,  how  honour'd  once,  avails  thoo  not, 
To  whom  related,  or  by  whom  begot ; 
A  he.-ip  of  dust  alone  remains  of  thee  ; 
'Tis  all  thou  art,  and  all  the  proud  shall  be  ! 

No  poem  of  our  author's  more  deservedly  obtained 
him  reputation  than  his  Essay  on  Criticism.  Mr.  Ad- 
dison  in  his  Spectator,  No.  253,  has  celebrated  it  with 
such  profuse  terms  of  admiration,  that  it  is  really 
astouisning  to  find  the  same  man  endeavouring  after 
wards  to  diminish  that  fame  he  had  contributed  to 
<aise  so  high. 

"  The  Art  of  Criticism,"  says  he,  "which  was  pub 
lished  some  months  ago,  is  a  master-piece  in  its  kind 
The  observations  follow  one  another,  like  those  in 
Horace's  Art  of  Poetry,  without  that  methodical  ra 


HV  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

gularity  which  would  have  been  requisite  in  a  prose 
writer.  They  are  some  of  them  uncommon,  but 
such  as  the  reader  must  assent  to  when  he  sees  them 
explained  with  that  elegance  and  perspicuity  with 
which  they  are  delivered.  As  for  those  which  are 
the  most  known  and  the  most  received,  they  are 
placed  in  so  beautiful  a  light,  and  illustrated  with 
such  apt  allusions,  that  they  have  in  them  all  the 
graces  of  novelty,  and  make  the  reader,  who  was  be 
fore  acquainted  with  them,  still  more  convinced  of 
their  truth  and  solidity.  And  here  give  me  leave  to 
mention  what  Monsieur  Boileau  has  so  well  enlarged 
upon  in  the  Preface  to  his  Works,  that  wit  and  fine 
writing  do  not  consist  so  much  in  advancing  things 
that  are  new,  as  in  giving  things  that  are  known  an 
agreeable  turn.  It  is  impossible  for  us  who  live  in 
the  latter  ages  of  the  world,  to  make  observations  in 
criticism,  morality,  or  any  art  and  science,  which 
have  not  been  touched  upon  by  others.  We  have 
little  else  left  us  but  to  represent  the  common  sense 
of  mankind  in  more  strong,  more  beautiful,  or  more 
uncommon  lights.  If  a  reader  examines  Horace's 
Art  of  Poetry,  he  will  find  but  few  precepts  in  it 
which  he  may  not  meet  with  in  Aristotle,  and  which 
were  not  commonly  known  by  all  the  poets  of  the 
Augustan  age.  His  way  of  expressing  and  applying 
them,  not  his  invention  of  them,  is  what  we  are 

chiefly  to  adnyre. 

"  Longinus,  in  his  Reflections,  has  given  us  the 
same  kind  of  sublime  which  he  observes  in  the  seve 
ral  passages  which  occasioned  them.  I  cannot  but 
take  notice  that  our  English  author  has,  after  the 
same  manner,  exemplified  several  of  his  precepts  in 
the  very  precepts  themselves."  He  then  produces 
some  instances  of  a  particular  kind  of  beauty  in  the 
numbers,  and  concludes  with  saying,  "  That  we  have 
three  poems  in  our  tongue  of  the  same  nature,  and 
each  a  master-piece  in  its  kind  ;  the  Essay  on  Trans- 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  r» 

ated  Verse,  the  Essay  on  the  Art  of  Poetry,  and  the 
Essay  on  Criticism." 

In  the  lives  of  Addison  and  Tickell,  some  general 
nints  concerning  the  quarrel  have  been  thrown  out, 
which  subsisted  between  our  pool  and  the  former  of 
these  gentlemen ;  here  it  will  not  be  improper  to  give 
a  more  particular  account  of  it. 

The  author  of  Mist's  Journal  positively  asserts, 
"  That  Mr.  Addison  raised  Pope  from  obscurity,  ob 
tained  him  the  acquaintance  and  friendship  of  the 
whole  body  of  our  nobility,  and  transferred  his 
powerful  influence  with  those  great  men  to  this 
rising  bard,  who  frequently  levied,  by  that  means, 
unusual  contributions  on  the  public.  No  sooner  was 
his  body  lifeless,  but  this  author,  reviving  his  resent 
ment,  libelled  the  memory  of  his  departed  friend, 
and,  what  was  still  more  heinous,  made  the  scandal 
public." 

When  this  charge  of  ingratitude  and  dishonour 
was  published  against  Mr.  Pope,  to  acquit  himself  of 
it  he  called  upon  nny  nobleman  whose  friendship,  or 
any  one  gentleman  whose  subscription,  Mr.  Addison 
had  procured  to  our  author,  to  stand  forth  and  de 
clare  it,  that  truth  might  appear.  But  the  whole  libel 
was  proved  a  malicious  story  by  many  persons  of 
distinction,  who  several  years  before  Mr.  Addison's 
decease,  approved  those  verses  denominated  a  libel, 
but  which  were,  it  is  said,  a  friendly  rebuke,  sent 
privately,  in  our  author's  own  hand,  to  Mr.  Addison 
himself,  and  never  made  public  till  by  Curll,  in  his 
Miscellanies,  12mo.  1727.  The  lines,  indeed,  are 
elegantly  satirical,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  many  un 
prejudiced  judges,  who  had  opportunities  of  knowing 
the  character  of  Mr.  Addison,  are  no  ill  representa 
tion  of  him.  Speaking  of  the  poetical  triflers  of  the 
times,  who  had  declared  against  him,  he  makes  a 
iuddcn  transition  to  Addison : — 


ivi  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

Peace  to  all  sue h !     But  were  there  one  whose  firoi 
True  genius  kindles,  and  fair  fame  inspires; 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  easo; 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  rival  near  the  throne, 
View  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caus'd  himself  to  rise; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And,  without  sneering,  others  teach  to  sneer; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike; 
Alike  reserv'd  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
A  tim'rous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  friend  ; 
Dreading  e'en  fools  ;  by  flatterers  besieg'd  ; 
And  so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  ohlig'd  : 
Like  Cato  give  his  little  senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause; 
While  wits  and  Templars  ev'ry  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise  ; 
Who  but  must  laugh,  if  such  a  man  there  be  ! 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  Atticus  were  he  ! 

Some  readers  may  think  these  'lines  severe,  but 
the  treatment  he  received  from  Mr.  Addison  was 
more  than  sufficient  to  justify  them,  which  will  ap 
pear  when  we  particularize  an  interview  between 
these  two  poetical  antagonists,  procured  by  the  warm 
solicitations  of  Sir  Richard  Steele,  who  was  present 
at  it,  as  well  as  Mr.  Gay. 

Mr.  Jervas  being  one  day  in  company  with  Mr. 
Addison,  the  conversation  turned  upon  Mr.  Pope, 
for  whom  Addison,  at  that  time,  expressed  the  high 
est  regard,  and  assured  Mr.  Jervas  that  he  would 
make  use  not  only  of  his  interest,  but  of  his  art  like 
wise,  to  do  Mr.  Pope  service  ;  he  then  said,  he  did 
not  mean  his  art  of  poetry,  but  his  art  at  court,  and 
protested,  notwithstanding  many  insinuations  were 
spread,  that  it  should  not  be  his  fault  if  there  was  not 
the  best  understanding  and  intelligence  between  them 
He  observed,  that  Dr.  Swift  might  have  carried  hua 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  x^ii 

*> 

too  far  among  the  enemy  during  the  animosity,  but 
now  all  was  safe,  and  Mr.  Pope,  in  his  opinion,  was 
escaped.  When  Mr.  Jervas  communicated  this  con 
versation  to  Mr.  Pope,  he  made  this  reply  :  "  The 
friendly  office  you  endeavour  to  do  between  Mr. 
Addison  and  me,  deserves  acknowledgments  on  my 
part.  You  thoroughly  know  my  regard  to  his  cha 
racter,  and  my  readiness  to  testify  it  by  all  ways  in 
my  power ;  you  also  thoroughly  know  the  mean 
ness  of  that  proceeding  of  Mr.  Phillips,  to  make  a 
man  I  so  highly  value,  suspect  my  disposition  to 
wards  him.  But  as,  after  all,  Mr.  Addison  must  be 
judge  in  what  regards  himself,  and  as  he  has  seemed 
not  to  be  a  very  just  one  to  me,  so  I  must  own  to  you 
I  expect  nothing  but  civility  from  him,  how  much 
soever  I  wish  for  his  friendship  ;  and,  as  for  any  offers 
of  real  kindness  or  service,  which  it  is  in  his  power  to 
do  me,  I  should  be  ashamed  to  receive  them  from  a 
man  who  has  no  better  opinion  of  my  morals  than  to 
think  me  a  party  man,  nor  of  my  temper  than  to  be 
lieve  me  capable  of  maligning  or  envying  another's 
reputation  as  a  poet.  In  a  word,  Mr.  Addison  is  sure 
of  my  respect  at  all  times,  and  of  my  real  friendship 
whenever  he  shall  think  fit  to  know  me  for  what 
I  am. 

Some  years  after  this  conversation,  at  the  desire  of 
Sir  Richard  Steele,  they  met.  At  first,  a  very  cold 
civility,  and  nothing  else,  appeared  on  either  side  : 
for  Mr.  Addison  had  a  natural  reserve  and  gloom  at 
the  beginning  of  an  evening,  which,  by  conversation 
and  a  glass,  brightened  into  an  easy  cheerfulness. 
Sir  Richard  Steele,  who  was  a  most  social  benevo 
lent  man,  begged  of  him  to  fulfil  his  promise  in  drop 
ping  all  animosity  against  Mr.  Pope.  Mr.  Pope  then 
desired  to  be  made  sensible  how  he  had  offended, 
and  observed,  that  the  translation  of  Homer,  if  that 
was  the  great  crime,  was  undertaken  at  the  request, 
and  almost  at  the  command,  of  Sir  Richard  Steele 
2 


xviii  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

He  entreated  Mr.  Addison  to  speak  candidly  an<i 
freely,  though  it  might  be  with  ever  so  much  severity 
rather  than,  by  keeping  up  forms  of  complaisance 
conceal  any  of  his  faults.  This  Mr.  Pope  spoke  in 
such  a  manner  as  plainly  indicated  he  thought  Mr. 
Addison  the  aggressor,  expected  him  to  condescend, 
and  own  himself  the  cause  of  the  breach  between 
them.  But  he  was  disappointed;  for  Mr.  Addison, 
without  appearing  to  be  angry,  was  quite  overcome 
with  it.  He  began  with  declaring  that  he  always 
had  wished  him  well,  had  often  endeavoured  to  be 
his  friend,  and  in  that  light  advised  him,  if  his  nature 
was  capable  of  it,  to  divest  himself  of  part  of  his 
vanity,  which  was  too  great  for  his  merit;  that  he 
had  not  arrived  yet  to  that  pitch  of  excellence  he 
might  imagine,  or  think  his  most  partial  readers  ima 
gined  ;  that  when  he  and  Sir  Richard  Steele  correct 
ed  his  verses,  they  had  a  different  air ;  reminding  Mr 
Pope  of  the  amendment,  by  Sir  Richard,  of  a  line  in 
the  poem  called  the  Messiah ; 

He  wipes  tho  tears  for  ever  from  our  eyes. 

Which  is  taken  from  the  prophet  Isaiah : — "  The 
Lord  God  will  wipe  tears  from  off  all  faces ;" 

From  every  face  he  wipes  off  every  tear. 

And  it  stands  so  altered  in  the  newer  editions  of  Mr. 
Pope's  works.  He  proceeded  to  lay  before  him  the 
mistakes  and  inaccuracies  hinted  at  by  the  writers 
who  had  attacked  Mr.  Pope,  and  added  many  things 
which  he  himself  objected  to.  Speaking  of  his 
Translation  in  general,  he  said,  that  he  was  not  to  be 
blamed  for  endeavouring  to  get  so  large  a  sum  of 
money,  but  that  it  was  an  ill-executed  thing,  and  not 
equal  to  Tickell,  which  had  all  the  spirit  of  Homer. 
Mr.  Addison  concluded,  in  a  low  hollow  voice  of 
feigned  temper,  that  he  was  not  solicitous  about  his 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  xu 

own  fame  as  a  poet ;  that  he  had  quitted  the  Muses 
to  enter  into  the  business  of  the  public,  and  that  all 
he  spoke  was  through  friendship  to  Mr.  Pope,  whom 
he  advised  to  have  a  less  exalted  sense  of  his  own 
merit. 

Mr.  Pope  could  not  well  bear  such  repeated  re 
proaches,  but  boldly  told  Mr.  Addison,  that  he  ap 
pealed  from  his  judgment  to  the  public,  and  that  he 
had  long  known  him  loo  well  to  expect  any  friend 
ship  from  him ;  upbraided  him  with  being  a  pensioner 
from  his  youth,  sacrificing  the  very  learning  pur 
chased  by  the  public  money  to  a  mean  thirst  of 
power;  that  he  was  sent  abroad  to  encourage  litera 
ture,  in  place  of  which  he  had  always  endeavoured 
to  suppress  merit.  At  last  the  contest  grew  so  warm 
that  they  parted  without  any  ceremony,  and  Mr. 
Pope,  upon  this,  wrote  the  foregoing  verses,  which 
are  esteemed  too  true  a  picture  of  Mr.  Addison. 

In  this  account,  and  indeed  in  all  other  accounts 
which  have  been  given  concerning  this  quarrel,  it 
does  not  appear  that  Mr.  Pope  was  the.  aggressor. 
If  Mr.  Addison  entertained  suspicions  oi  Mr.  Pope's 
being  carried  too  far  among  the  enemy,  the  danger 
was  certainly  Mr.  Pope's,  and  not  Mr.  Addison's. 
It  was  his  misfortune,  and  not  his  crime.  If  Mr 
Addison  should  think  himself  capable  of  becoming  a 
rival  to  Mr.  Pope,  and,  in  consequence  of  this  opinion, 
publish  a  translation  of  part  of  Homer  at  the  same 
time  with  Mr.  Pope's,  and  if  the  public  should  decide 
in  favour  of  the  latter,  by  reading  his  translation,  and 
neglecting  the  other,  can  any  fault  be  imputed  to 
Mr.  Pope  ?  could  he  be  blamed  for  exerting  all  his 
abilities  in  so  arduous  a  province  ?  And  was  it  his 
fault  that  Mr.  Addison  (for  the  first  Book  of  Homer 
was  undoubtedly  his)  could  not  translate  to  please 
the  public?  Besides,  was  it  not  somewhat  presump 
tuous  to  insinuate  to  Mr.  Pope  that  his  verses  bore 
another  face  when  he  corrected  them,  while,  a  t  the 


a.  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

same  time,  the  translation  of  Homer,  which  he  had 
sever  seen  in  manuscript,  bore  away  the  palm  from 
that  very  translation  which  he  himself  asserted  waa 
done  in  the  true  spirit  of  Homer?  In  matters  of 
genius  the  public  judgment  seldom  errs,  and  in  this 
case  posterity  has  confirmed  the  sentence  of  that 
age  which  gave  the  preference  to  Mr.  Pope ;  for 
nis  translation  is  in  the  hands  of  all  readers  of  taste, 
while  the  other  is  seldom  regarded  but  as  a  foil  to 
Pope's. 

It  would  appear  as  if  Mr.  Addison  were  himself  so 
immersed  in  party  business  as  to  contract  his  benevo 
lence  to  the  limits  of  a  faction,  which  was  infinitely 
beneath  the  views  of  a  philosopher,  and  the  rules 
which  that  excellent  writer  himself  established.  If 
this  was  the  failing  of  Mr.  Addison,  it  was  not  the 
error  of  Pope,  for  he  kept  the  strictest  correspond 
ence  with  some  persons  whose  affection  to  the  Whig 
interest  was  suspected,  yet  was  his  name  never  called 
in  question.  While  he  was  in  favour  with  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  the  Lords  Boli'ngbroke,  Oxford,  and 
Harcourt,  Dr.  Swift,  and  Mr.  Prior,  he  did  not  drop 
his  correspondence  with  the  Lord  Halifax,  Mr. 
Craggs,  and  most  of  those  who  were  at  the  head  of 
the  Whig  interest.  A  professed  Jacobite  one  day 
remonstrated  to  Mr.  Pope,  that  the  people  of  his 
party  took  it  ill  that  he  should  write  with  Mr.  Steele 
upon  ever  so  indifferenc  a  subject ;  at  which  he  could 
not  help  smiling,  and  observed,  that  he  hated  narrow 
ness  of  soul  in  any  party  ;  and  that  if  he  renounced 
his  reason  in  religious  matters,  he  should  hardly  do  it 
on  EJiy  other ;  and  that  he  could  pray  not  only  for 
opposite  parties,  but  even  for  opposite  religions.  Mr. 
Pope  considered  himself  as  a  citizen  of  the  world, 
and  was  therefore  obliged  to  pray  for  the  prosperity 
of  mankind  in  general.  As  a  son  of  Britain,  ha 
wished  those  councils  might  be  suffered  by  Provi 
dence  to  prevail  which  were  nnst  for  the  interest  of 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  xxi 

nw  native  country  ;  but  as  politics  was  not  his  study, 
he  could  not  always  determine,  at  least  with  any  degree 
of  certainty,  whose  councils  were  best :  and  had 
charity  enough  to  believe  that  contending  parties 
might  mean  well.  As  taste  and  science  are  confined 
to  no  country,  so  ought  they  not  to  be  excluded  from 
any  party,  and  Mr.  Pope  had  an  unexceptionable  right 
to  live  upon  terms  of  the  strictest  friendship  with 
every  man  of  parts,  to  which  party  soever  he  might 
belong.  Mr.  Pope's  uprightness  in  his  conduct  to 
wards  contending  politicians,  is  demonstrated  by  his 
living  independent  of  either  faction :  he  accepted 
no  place,  and  had  too  high  a  spirit  to  become  a 
pensioner. 

Many  efforts,  however,  were  made  to  proselyte 
him  from  the  popish  faith,  which  all  proved  ineffec 
tual.  His  friends  conceived  hopes,  from  the  mode 
ration  which  he  on  all  occasions  expressed,  that  he 
was  really  a  Protestant  in  his  heart,  and  that  upon 
the  death  of  his  mother  he  would  not  scruple  to  de 
clare  his  sentiments,  notwithstanding  the  reproaches 
he  might  incur  from  the  popish  party,  and  the  public 
observation  it  would  draw  upon  him.  The  Bishop 
of  Rochester  strongly  advised  him  to  read  the  con 
troverted  points  between  the  Protestant  and  the  Ca 
tholic  church,  to  suffer  his  unprejudiced  reason  to 
determine  for  him,  and  he  made  no  doubt  but  a  sepa 
ration  from  the  Romish  communion  would  soon  en 
sue.  To  this  Mr.  Pope  very  candidly  answered, 
"  Whether  the  change  would  be  to  my  spiritual  ad 
vantage  God  only  knows ;  this  I  know,  that  I  mean 
as  well  in  the  religion  I  now  profess,  as  ever  I  can  do 
in  any  other.  Can  a  man  who  thinks  so,  justify  a 
change,  even  if  he  thought  both  equally  good  ?  to 
such  an  one  the  part  of  joining  with  any  one  body  of 
Christians  might  perhaps  be  easy,  but  I  think  it  woula 
not  be  so  to  renounce  the  other. 

"  Your  Lordship  has  formerly  advised  me  lo  read 


vul  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

he  best  controversies  between  the  churches.  Shall 
I  tell  you  a  secret  ?  I  did  so  at  fourteen  years  old, 
for  I  Joved  reading,  and  my  father  had  no  other 
books.  There  was  a  collection  of  all  that  had  been 
written  on  both  sides  in  the  reign  of  King  James  II. 
I  warmed  my  head  with  them,  and  the  consequence 
was,  I  found  myself  a  Papist  or  Protestant  by  turns 
according  to  the  last  book  I  read.  I  am  afraid  most 
seekers  are  in  the  same  case,  and  when  they  stop, 
they  are  not  so  properly  converted  as  outwitted 
You  see  how  little  glory  you  would  gain  by  my  con 
version  ;  and,  after  all,  I  verily  believe  your  Lordship 
and  1  are  both  of  the  same  religion,  if  we  were 
thoroughly  understood  by  one  another,  and  that  all 
honest  and  reasonable  Christians  would  be  so,  if  they 
did  but  talk  enough  together  every  day,  and  had  no 
thing  to  do  together  but  to  serve  God  and  live  in 
peace  with  their  neighbours. 

"  As  to  the.  temporal  side  of  the  question,  I  can 
have  no  dispute  with  you ;  it  is  certain  all  the  bene 
ficial  circumstances  of  life,  and  all  the  shining  ones, 
lie  on  the  part  you  would  invite  me  to  :  but  if  I  could 
bring  myself  to  fancy,  what  I  think  you  do  but  fancy, 
that  I  have  any  talents  for  active  life,  I  want  health 
for  it ;  and  besides  it  is  a  real  truth,  I  have,  if  possi 
ble,  less  inclination  than  ability.  Contemplative  life 
is  not  only  my  scene,  but  is  my  habit  too.  I  began 
my  life  where  most  people  end  theirs,  with  a  disgust 
of  all  that  the  world  calls  ambition.  I  don't  know  ' 
why  it  is  called  so  :  for,  to  me,  it  always  seemed  to 
be  rather  stooping  than  climbing.  I'll  tell  you  my 
political  and  religious  sentiments  in  a  few  words  ;  in 
my  politics,  I  think  no  farther  than  how  to  preserve 
my  peace  of  life  in  any  government  under  which  I  live ; 
nor  in  my  religion,  than  to  preserve  the  peace  of  my 
conscience  in  any  church  with  which  I  communicate. 
1  hope  all  churches  and  all  governments  are  so  far  of 
tiod  as  they  are  rightly  understood  and  rightly  ad- 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  xxiii 

ministered  ;  and  where  they  are  or  may  he  wrong,  I 
leave  it  to  God  alone  to  mend  or  reform  them  ;  which, 
whenever  he  does,  it  must  be  by  greater  instruments 
than  I  am.  I  am  not  a  Papist,  for  I  renounce  the 
temporal  invasions  of  the  papal  power,  and  detest 
their  arrogated  authority  over  princes  and  states  ;  I 
am  a  Catholic  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word. 
Ff  I  was  born  under  an  absolute  prince  I  would  be  a 
quiet  subject;  but  thank  God  I  was  not.  I  have  a 
due  sense  of  the  excellence  of  the  British  constitu 
tion.  In  a  word,  the  things  I  have  always  wished  to 
see  are  not  a  Roman  Catholic,  or  a  French  Catholic, 
or  a  Spanish  Catholic,  but  a  true  Catholic ;  and  not  a 
king  of  Whigs,  or  a  king  of  Tories,  but  a  king  of 
England." 

These  arc  the  peaceful  maxims  upon  which  we 
find  Mr.  Pope  conducted  his  life ;  and  if  they  cannot 
in  some  respects  be  justified,  yet  it  must  be  owned 
that  his  religion  and  his  politics  were  well  enough 
adapted  for  a  poet,  which  entitled  him  to  a  kind  of 
universal  patronage,  and  to  make  every  good  man  hia 
friend. 

Dean  Swift  sometimes  wrote  to  Mr,  Pope  on  the 
topic  of  changing  his  religion,  and  once  humorously 
offered  him  twenty  pounds  for  that  purpose.  Mr. 
Pope's  answer  to  this,  Lord  Orrery  has  obliged  the 
world  with  by  preserving  it  in  the  life  of  Swift.  It 
is  a  perfect  master-piece  of  wit  and  pleasantry. 

We  have  already  taken  notice  that  Mr.  Pope  was 
called  upon  by  the  public  voice  to  translate  the  Iliad, 
which  he  performed  with  so  much  applause,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  with  so  much  profit  to  himself,  that 
he  was  envied  by  many  writers,  whose  vanity  per 
haps  induced  them  to  believe  themselves  equal  to  so 
great  a  design.  A  combination  of  inferior  wits  were 
employed  to  write  the  Popiad,  in  which  his  transla 
tion  is  characterized  as  unjust  to  the  original,  without 
Of-auty  of  language,  or  variety  of  numbers.  Instead 


oiv  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

of  the  justness  of  the  original,  they  gay  there  is  ar, 
eurdity  and  extravagance;  instead  of  the  beautifit. 
language  of  the  original,  there  is  solecism  and  barbs  • 
rous  English.  A  candid  reader  may  easily  discenr 
from  this  furious  introduction,  that  the  critics  wei» 
actuated  rather  by  malice  than  truth,  and  that  they 
must  judge  with  their  eyes  shut  who  can  see  no 
beauty  of  language,  no  harmony  of  numbers  in  thi» 
translation. 

But  the  most  formidable  critic  against  Mr.  Pope  if. 
this  great  undertaking,  was  the  celebrated  Madame 
Dacier,  whom  Mr.  Pope  treated  with  less  ceremony 
in  his  Notes  on  the  Iliad  than,  in  the  opinion  of  some 
people,  was  due  to  her  sex.  This  learned  lady  was 
not  without  a  sense  of  the  injury,  and  took  an  oppor 
tunity  of  discovering  her  resentment. 

"  Upon  finishing  (says  she)  the  second  edition  of 
my  translation  of  Homer,  a  particular  friend  sent  me 
a  translation  of  part  of  Mr.  Pope's  Preface  to  his  ver 
sion  of  the  Iliad.  As  I  do  not  understand  English,  I 
cannot  form  any  judgment  of  his  performance,  though 
I  have  heard  much  of  it.  I  am  indeed  willing  to  be 
lieve,  that  the  praises  it  has  met  with  are  not  unmerit 
ed,  because  whatever  work  is  approved  by  the  En 
glish  nation  cannot  be  bad  :  but  yet  I  hope  I  may  be 
permitted  to  judge  of  that  part  of  the  preface  which 
has  been  transmitted  to  me ;  and  I  here  take  the 
liberty  of  giving  my  sentiments  concerning  it.  I 
most  freely  acknowledge  that  Mr.  Pope's  invention  ia 
very  lively,  though  he  seems  to  have  been  guilty  of  the 
same  fault  into  which  he  owns  we  are  often  precipi 
tated  by  our  invention  when  we  depend  too  much 
Upon  the  strength  of  it;  as  magnanimity,  says  he,  may 
un  up  to  confusion  and  extravagance,  so  may  great 
nvention  to  redundancy  and  wildness. 

"  This  has  been  the  very  case  of  Mr.  Pope  himself; 

>thing  is  more  overstrained,  or  more  false,  than  thf 
ges  in  which  his  fancy  has  represented  Home: 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  m 

sometimes  he  tells  us  that  the  Iliad  is  a  wild  paradiso 
where,  if  we  cannot  see  all  the  beauties  as  in  an  order 
ed  garden,  it  is  only  because  the  number  of  them  is 
.nfinitely  greater.  Sometimes  he  compares  him  to  a 
copious  nursery,  which  contains  the  seeds  and  first 
productions  of  every  kind  ;  and,  lastly,  he  represents 
him  under  the  notion  of  a  mighty  tree,  which  rises 
from  the  most  vigorous  seed ;  is  improved  with  in 
dustry,  flourishes  and  produces  the  finest  fruit,  but 
bears  too  many  branches,  which  might  be  lopped  into 
form,  to  give  it  a  more  regular  appearance. 

"  What !  is  Homer's  poem  then,  according  to  Mr. 
Pope,  a  confused  heap  of  beauties,  without  order  or 
symmetry,  and  a  plot  whereon  nothing  but  seeds,  nor 
nothing  perfect  or  formed  is  to  be  found  ?  and  a  pro 
duction  loaded  with  many  unprofitable  things  which 
ought  to  be  retrenched,  and  which  choke  and  dis 
figure  those  which  deserve  to  be  preserved  ?  Mr. 
Pope  will  pardon  me  if  I  here  oppose  those  compari 
sons,  which  to  me  appear  very  false,  and  entirely 
contrary  to  what  the  greatest  of  ancient  and  modern 
critics  ever  thought. 

"  The  Iliad  is  so  far  from  being  a  wild  paradise, 
that  it  is  the  most  regular  garden,  and  laid  out  with 
more  symmetry,  than  any  ever  was.  Every  thing 
therein  is  not  only  in  the  place  it  ought  to  have  been, 
but  every  thing  is  fitted  for  the  place  it  hath.  He 
presents  you,  at  first,  with  that  which  ought  to  be  first 
Been  ;  he  places  in  the  middle  what  ought  to  be  in  the 
middle,  and  what  would  be  improperly  placed  at  the 
beginning  or  end ;  and  he  removes  what  ought  to  be 
at  a  greater  distance,  to  create  the  more  agreeable 
surprise  ;  and  to  use  a  comparison  drawn  from  paint 
ing,  he  places  that  in  the  greatest  light  vhich  cannot 
be  too  visible,  and  sinks  in  the  obscurity  of  the  shade 
what  does  not  require  a  full  view  ;  so  that  it  may  be 
taid  that  Homer  is  the  painter  who  best  knew  how  to 
employ  the  shades  and  lights.  The  second  compart 


ixvi  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

son  is  equally  unjust :  how  could  Mr.  Pope  say,  'that 
one  can  only  discover  seeds,  and  the  first  productions 
of  every  kind  in  the  Iliad  ?'  Every  beauty  is  there  to 
such  an  amazing  perfection,  that  the  following  ages 
could  add  nothing  to  those  of  any  kind;  and  the  an 
cients  have  always  proposed  Homer  as  the  most  per 
feet  model  in  every  kind  of  poetry. 

"  The  third  comparison  is  composed  pf  the  errors 
of  the  two  former;  Homer  had  certainly  an  incom 
parable  fertility  of  invention,  but  his  fertility  is  al 
ways  checked  by  that  just  sense  which  made  him  re 
ject  every  superfluous  thing  which  his  vast  imagination 
could  offer,  and  to  retain  only  what  was  necessary 
and  useful.  Judgment  guided  the  hand  of  this  admi 
rable  gardener,  and  was  the  pruning-hook  he  employ 
ed  to  lop  off  every  useless  branch." 

Thus  fir  Madam  Dacier  differs  in  her  opinion  from 
Mr.  Pope  concerning  Homer;  but  these  remarks, 
which  we  have  just  quoted,  partake  not  at  all  of  the 
nature  of  criticism ;  they  are  mere  assertion.  Pope 
had  declared  Homer  to  abound  with  irregular  beau 
ties.  Dacier  has  contradicted  him,  and  asserted,  thai 
all  his  beauties  are  regular,  but  no  reason  is  assigned 
by  either  of  these  mighty  geniuses  in  support  of  their 
opinions,  and  the  reader  is  left  in  the  dark  as  to  the 
real  truth.  If  he  is  to  be  guided  by  the  authority  of  a 
name  only,  no  doubt  the  argument  will  preponderate 
in  favour  of  our  countryman.  The  French  lady  theii 
proceeds  to  answer  some  observations  which  Mi. 
Pope  made  upon  her  remarks  upon  the  Iliad,  which 
she  performs  with  a  warmth  that  generally  attends 
writers  of  her  sex.  Mr.  Pope,  however,  paid  more 
regard  to  this  fair  antagonist  than  any  other  critic 
upon  his  works.  He  confessed  that  he  had  received 
great  helps  from  her,  and  only  thought  she  had 
(through  a  prodigious  and  almost  superstitious  fond 
ness  for  Homer)  endeavoured  to  make  him  appear 
without  any  fault  or  weakness,  and  stamp  a  prrfce- 


LIFE  OF  POPE  sxvii 

tion  on  his  works  which  is  no  where  to  be  found.  He 
wrote  her  a  very  obliging  letter,  in  which  he  confess 
ed  himself  exceedingly  sorry  that  he  ever  should  have 
displeased  so  excellent  a  wit;  and  she,  on  the  other 
hand,  with  a  goodness  and  frankness  peculiar  to  her 
protested  to  forgive  it;  so  that  there  remained  no 
animosities  between  those  two  great  admirers  and 
translators  of  Homer. 

Mr.  Pope,  by  his  successful  translation  of  the  Iliad, 
as  we  have  before  remarked,  drew  upon  him  the 
envy  and  raillery  of  a  whole  tribe  of  writers.  Though 
he  did  not  esteem  any  particular  man  amongst  his 
enemies  of  consequence  enough  to  provoke  an  an 
swer,  yet,  when  tftey  were  considered  collectively, 
they  offered  excellent  materials  for  a  general  satire. 
This  satire  he  planned  and  executed  with  so  extraor 
dinary  a  mastery,  that  it  is  by  far  the  most  complete 
poem  of  our  Author's :  it  discovers  more  invention 
and  a  higher  effort  of  genius,  than  any  other  produc 
tion  of  his.  The  hint  was  taken  from  Mr.  Dryden's 
Mac  Flecknoe ;  but  as  it  is  more  general,  so  it  is  more 
pleasing.  The  Dunciad  is  so  universally  read,  that 
we  reckon  it  superfluous  to  give  any  further  account 
of  it  here ;  and  it  would  be  an  unpleasing  task  to 
trace  all  the  provocations  and  resentments  which 
were  mutually  discovered  upon  this  occasion.  Mr 
Pope  was  of  opinion  that,  next  to  praising  good  wri- 
ers,  there  was  a  merit  in  exposing  bad  ones ;  though 
t  does  not  hold  infallibly  true  that  each  person  stig 
matized  as  a  dunce  was  genuinely  so.  Something 
must  be  allowed  to  personal  resentment :  Mr.  Pope 
was  a  man  of  keen  passions ;  he  felt  an  injury  strong 
ly,  retained  a  long  remembrance  of  it,  and  could  very 
pungently  repay  it.  Some  of  the  gentlemen,  however, 
who  had  been  more  severely  lashed  than  the  rest, 
meditated  a  revenge  which  redounds  but  little  to  their 
honour.  They  either  intended  to  chastise  him  cor- 
oorallv,  or  gave  it  out  that  they  had  really  done  so, 


rxviii  LIFE  OF  POPE 

in  order  to  bring  shame  upon  Mr.  Pope,  which,  if 
true,  could  only  bring  shame  upon  themselves. 

While  Mr.  Pope  enjoyed  any  leisure  from  severs 
applications  to  study,  his  friends  were  continually 
soliciting  him  to  turn  his  thoughts  towards  soniethirig 
that  might  be  of  lasting  use  to  the  world,  and  engage 
no  more  in  a  war  with  dunces,  who  were  now  effec 
tually  humbled.  Our  great  dramatic  poet  Shak- 
speare  had  passed  through  several  hands,  some  of 
whom  were  very  reasonably  judged  not  to  have  un 
derstood  any  part  of  him  tolerably,  much  less  were 
capable  to  correct  or  revise  him. 

The  friends  of  Mr-  Pope,  therefore,  strongly  im 
portuned  him  to  undertake  the  whole  of  Shakspeare's 
plays,  and,  if  possible,  by  comparing  all  the  different 
copies  now  to  be  procured,  restore  him  to  his  ancient 
purity:  to  which  our  poet  made  this  modest  reply, 
That,  not  having  attempted  any  thing  in  the  drama,  it 
might  in  him  be  deemed  too  much  presumption.  To 
which  he  was  answered,  That  this  did  not  require 
great  knowledge  of  the  foundation  and  disposition  of 
the  drama,  as  that  must  stand  as  it  was,  and  Shak- 
speare  himself  had  not  always  paid  strict  regard  to 
the  rules  of  it ;  but  this  was  to  clear  the  scenes  from 
the  rubbish  with  which  ignorant  editors  had  filled 
them. 

His  proper  business  in  this  work  was  to  render  the 
text  so  clear  as  to  be  generally  understood,  to  free  it 
from  obscurities,  and  sometimes  gross  absurdities, 
which  now  seem  to  appear  in  it,  and  to  explain  doubt 
ful  and  difficult  passages,  of  which  there  are  great 
numbers.  This,  however,  was  an  arduous  province, 
and  how  Mr.  Pope  has  acquitted  himself  in  it  has 
been  differently  determined :  it  is  certain  he  never 
valued  himself  upon  that  performance,  nor  was  it  a 
task  in  the  least  adapted  to  his  genius :  for  it  seldom 
happens  that  a  man  of  lively  parts  can  undergo  the 
servile  drudgery  of  collecting  passages  in  which  more 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  xxu 

industry  and  labour  are  necessary  than  persons  of 
quick  penetration  generally  have  to  bestow. 

It  has  been  the  opinion  of  some  critics  that  Mr 
Pope's  talents  were  not  adapted  for  the  drama,  other 
wise  we  cannot  well  account  for  his  neglecting  the 
most  gainful  way  of  writing  which  poetry  affords, 
especially  as  his  reputation  was  so  high  that,  without 
much  ceremony  or  mortification,  he  might  have  had 
any  piece  of  his  brought  upon  the  stage.  Mr.  Pope 
was  attentive  to  his  own  interest,  and  if  he  had  not 
either  been  conscious  of  his  inability  in  that  province, 
or  too  timid  to  risk  the  popular  approbation,  lie  would 
certainly  have  attempted  the  drama.  Neither  was  he 
esteemed  a  very  competent  judge  of  what  plays  were 
proper  or  improper  for  representation.  He  wrote 
several  letters  to  the  manager  of  Drury-lane  theatre, 
in  favour  of  Thompson's  Agamemnon,  which,  not 
withstanding  his  approbation,  Thompson's  friends 
were  obliged  to  mutilate  and  shorten  ;  and,  after  all, 
it  proved  a  heavy  play;  though  it  was  generally  al 
lowed  to  have  been  one  of  the  best  acted  plays  that 
had  appeared  for  some  years. 

He  was  certainly  concerned  in  the  comedy  which 
was  published  in  Mr.  Gay's  name,  called  Three  Hours 
after  Marriage,  as  well  as  Dr.  Arbuthnot.  This  illus 
trious  triumvirate,  though  men  of  the  most  various 
parts,  and  extensive  understanding,  yet  were  not  able, 
it  seems,  to  please  the  people,  though  the  principal 
parts  were  supported  by  the  best  actors  in  that  way 
on  the  stage.  Dr.  Arbuthnot  and  Mr.  Pope  were,  no 
doubt,  solicitous  to  conceal  their  concern  in  it  ;  but 
by  a  letter  which  Mr.  Gay  wrote  to  Pope,  published 
in  Ayre's  Memoirs,  it  appears  evident  (if  Ayre's  au 
thority  may  be  depended  on)  that  they  both  assisted 
in  the  composition. 
"  Dear  Pope. 

"  Too  late  I  see  and  confess  myself  mistaken  in 
relation  to  the  comedy ;  yet  I  do  not  think  had  I  fol 


MX  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

lowed  your  advice,  and  only  introduced  the  mummj 
that  the  absence  of  the  crocodile  had  saved  it. 
can't  help  laughing  myself  (though  the  vulgar  do  no 
consider  it  was  designed  to  look  noiculous)  to  think 
how  the  poor  monster  and  mummy  were  dashed  at 
their  reception,  and,  when  the  cry  was  loudest,  I 
thought  that,  if  the  thing  had  been  written  by  another, 
I  should  have  deemed  the  town  in  some  measure  mis 
taken  ;  and  as  to  your  apprehension  that  this  may  do 
us  future  injury,  do  not  think  of  it ;  the  Doctor  has  a 
more  valuabe  name  than  can  be  hurt  by  any  thing  of 
this  nature,  and  yours  is  doubly  safe ;  I  will,  if  any 
shame  there  be,  take  it  all  to  myself,  and  indeed  I 
ought,  the  motion  being  first  mine,  and  never  heartily 
approved  by  you." 

Of  all  our  poet's  writings,  none  were  read  with 
more  general  approbation  than  his  Ethic  Epistles,  or 
multiplied  into  more  editions.  Mr.  Pope,  who  was  a 
perfect  economist,  secured  to  himself  the  profits 
arising  from  his  own  works  ;  he  was  never  subjected 
to  necessity,  and  therefore  was  not  to  be  imposed 
upon  by  the  art  or  fraud  of  publishers. 

But  now  approaches  the  period  in  which,  as  he 
himself  expressed  it,  he  stood  in  need  of  the  generous 
tear  he  paid ; 

Poets  themselves  must  fall  like  those  they  sung, 
Deaf  the  prais'd  ear,  and  mute  the  tuneful  tongue, 
E'en  he  whose  soul  now  melts  in  mournful  lays, 
Shall  shortly  want  the  gen'rous  tear  he  pays. 

Mr.  Pope,  who  had  been  always  subjected  to  a 
variety  of  bodily  infirmities,  finding  his  strength  give 
way,  began  to  think  that  his  days,  which  had  been 
prolonged  past  his  expectation,  were  drawing  towards 
a  conclusion.  However,  he  visited  the  Hotwells  at 
Bristol,  where  for  some  time,  there  were  small  hopes 
of  his  recovery ;  but  making  too  free  with  purges,  he 
grew  worse  and  seemed  desirous  to  draw  no:irer 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  xxx  I 

home.  A  dropsy  in  the  breast  at  last  put  a  period  to 
his  life,  at  the  age  of  fifty-six,  on  the  30th  of  May, 
1744,  at  his  house  at  Twickenham,  where  he  was  in 
terred  in  the  same  grave  with  his  father  and  mother. 

Mr.  Pope's  behaviour  in  his  last  illness  has  been 
variously  represented  to  the  world  :  some  have  affirm 
ed  that  it  was  timid  and  peevish ;  that  having  been 
fixed  in  no  particular  system  of  faith,  his  mind  was 
wavering,  and  his  temper  broken  and  disturbed. 
Others  have  asserted  that  he  was  all  cheerfulness  and 
resignation  to  the  Divine  will :  which  of  these  opinions 
is  true  we  cannot  now  determine  ;  but  if  the  former, 
it  must  be  regretted  that  he  who  had  taught  philoso 
phy  to  others,  should  himself  be  destitute  of  its  assis 
tance  in  the  most  critical  moments  of  his  life. 

The  bulk  of  his  fortune  he  bequeathed  to  Mrs. 
Blount,  with  whom  he  lived  in  the  strictest  friendship, 
and  for  whom  he  is  said  to  have  entertained  the  warm 
est  affection.  His  works,  which  are  in  the  hands  of 
every  person  of  true  taste,  and  will  last  as  long  as  our 
language  will  be  understood,  render  unnecessary  all 
further  remarks  on  his  writings.  He  was  equally 
admired  for  the  dignity  and  sublimity  of  his  moral  and 
philosophical  works,  the  vivacity  of  his  satirical,  the 
-clearness  and  propriety  of  his  didactic,  the  richness 
*nd  variety  of  his  descriptive,  and  the  elegance  of  all, 
idded  to  a  harmony  of  versification  and  correctness 
if  sentiment  and  language  unknown  to  our  former 
-oets,  and  of  which  he  has  set  an  example,  which  will 
be  an  example  or  a  reproach  to  his  successors.  His 
prose  style  is  as  perfect  in  its  kind  as  his  poetic,  and 
has  all  the  beauties  proper  for  it,  joined  to  an  uncom 
mon  force  and  perspicuity. 

Under  the  profession  of  the  Roman  Catholic  re 
ligion,  to  which  he  adhered  to  the  last,  he  maintained 
all  the  moderation  and  charity  becoming  the  most 
thorough  and  consistent  protestant.  His  conversa 
tion  was  natural,  easy,  and  agreeable,  without  any 


xxxii  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

affectation  of  displaying  his  wit,  or  obtruding  his  own 
judgment,  even  upon  subjects  of  which  he  was  so 
eminently  a  master. 

The  moral  character  of  our  author,  as  it  did  not 
escape  the  lash  of  his  calumniators  in  his  life,  so  have 
there  been  attempts  since  his  death  to  diminish  his 
reputation.  Lord  Bolingbroke,  whom  Mr.  Pope 
esteemed  to  almost  an  enthusiastic  degree  of  admira 
tion,  was  the  first  to  make  this  attack.  Not  many 
years  ago  the  public  were  entertained  with  this  con 
troversy,  immediately  upon  the  publication  of  his 
Lordship's  Letters  on  the  Spirit  of  Patriotism,  and 
the  Idea  of  a  Patriot  King.  Different  opinions  have 
been  offered,  some  to  extenuate  the  fault  of  Mr.  Pope 
for  printing  and  mutilating  those  letters  without  his 
Lordship's  knowledge,  others  to  blame  him  for  it  as 
the  highest  breach  of  friendship,  and  the  greatest 
mark  of  dishonour ;  but  it  would  exceed  our  proposed 
bounds  to  enter  into  the  merits  of  this  controversy. 

This  great  man  is  allowed  to  have  been  one  oftlu; 
first  rank  amongst  the  poets  of  our  nation,  and  to  ac 
knowledge  the  superiority  of  none  but  Shakspeare, 
Milton,  and  Dryden.  With  the  two  former  it  is  un 
natural  to  compare  him,  as  their  province  in  writing 
is  so  very  different.  Pope  has  never  attempted  the 
drama,  nor  published  an  epic  poem,  in  which  these 
two  geniuses  have  so  wonderfully  succeeded. 
Though  Pope's  genius  was  great,  it  was  yet  of  so 
different  a  cast  from  Shakspeare's  and  Milton's,  that  no 
comparison  can  be  justly  formed.  But  if  this  may  bo 
said  of  the  former  two,  it  will  by  no  means  hold  with 
respect  to  the  latter ;  for  between  him  and  Dryden 
there  is  agreat  similarity  of  writing,  and  a  very  striking 
coincidence  of  genius.  It  will  not,  perhaps,  bo  un- 
pleasing  to  our  readers  if  we  pursue  this  comparison, 
and  endeavour  to  discover  to  whom  the  superiority  is 
justly  to  be  attributed,  and  to  which  of  them  poetry 
nwee  the  highest  obligations. 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  xxxii 

When  Dryden  came  into  the  world  he  found  poetry 
In  a  very  imperfect  state  ;  its  numbers  were  nnpolish 
ed,  its  cadences  rough,  and  there  was  nothing  of  har 
mony  or  mellifluence  to  give  it  a  graceful  (low.  In 
this  harsh,  unmusical  situation,  Dryden  found  it,  (for 
the  refinements  of  Waller  were  but  puerile  and  un 
substantial  ;)  he  polished  the  rough  diamond,  he  taught 
it  to  shine,  and  connected  beauty,  elegance,  an<> 
strength,  in  all  his  poetical  compositions.  Though 
Dryden  thus  polished  our  English  numbers,  and  thus 
harmonized  versification,  it  cannot  be  said  that  he 
carried  his  art  to  perfection.  Much  was  yet  left  un 
done  ;  his  lines  with  all  their  smoothness,  were  often 
amoling,  and  expletives  were  frequently  introduced 
to  complete  his  measures.  It  is  apparent,  therefore, 
that  an  additional  harmony  might  still  be  given  to  our 
numbers,  and  that  cadences  were  yet  capable  of  more 
musical  modulation.  To  effect  this  purpose,  Mr. 
Pope  arose,  who  with  an  ear  elegantly  delicate,  and 
the  advantage  of  the  finest  genius,  so  harmonized  the 
English  numbers,  as  to  make  them  completely  musi 
cal.  His  numbers  are  likewise  so  minutely  correct, 
that  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  how  any  of  his 
lines  can  be  altered  to  advantage.  He  has  created  a 
kind  of  mechanical  versification  ;  every  line  is  alike; 
and  though  they  are  sweetly  musical,  they  want  diver 
sity;  for  he  has  not  studied  so  great  a  variety  of 
pauses,  and  where  the  accents  maybe  laid  gracefully 
The  structure  of  his  verse  is  the  best,  and  a  line  of  his 
is  more  musical  than  any  other  line  can  be  made  by 
placing  the  accents  elsewhere  ;  but  we  are  not  quite 
certain  whether  the  ear  is  not  apt  to  be  soon  cloyed 
with  this  uniformity  of  elegaucc,This  sameness  of  har 
mony.  It  must  be  acknowledged  however,  that  he 
has  much  improved  upon  Dryden  in  the  article  of  ver 
sification,  and  in  that  part  of  poetry  is  greatly  his  su 
perior.  But  though  tnis  must  be  acknowledged,  per 
il 


LIFE  OF  POPE. 

haps  :t   will  not   necessarily  follow  that  his  genius 
was  therefore  superior. 

The  grand  characteristic  of  a  poet  is  his  inven 
tion,  the  surest  distinction  of  a  great  genius.  In  3Ir. 
Pope  nothing  is  so  truly  original  as  his  Rape  of  the 
Lock,  nor  discovers  so  much  invention.  In  this  kind 
of  mock-heroic  he  is  without  a  rival  in  our  language, 
for  Dryden  has  written  nothing  of  the  kind.  His 
other  work  which  discovers  invention,  fine  designing, 
and  admirable  execution,  is  his  Dunciad ;  which, 
though  built  on  Dryden's  Mac  Flecknoe,  is  yet  so 
/nuch  superior,  that,  in  satiric  writing,  the  palm  must 
justly  be  yielded  to  him.  In  Mr.  Dryden's  Absalom 
and  Ahithophel,  there  are  indeed  the  most  poignant 
strokes  of  satire,  and  characters  drawn  with  the  most 
masterly  touches  ;  but  this  poem,  with  all  its  excel 
lences,  is  much  inferior  to  the  Dunciad,  though  Dry 
den  had  advantages  which  Mr.  Pope  had  not;  for 
Dryden's  characters  are  men  of  great  eminence  and 
figure  in  the  state,  while  Pope  has  to  expose  men  of 
obscure  birth  and  unimportant  lives,  only  distinguish 
ed  from  the  herd  of  mankind  by  a  glimmering  of 
genius,  which  rendered  the  greatest  part  of  them 
more  emphatically  contemptible.  Pope's  was  the 
hardest  task,  and  he  has  executed  it  with  the  greatest 
success.  As  Mr.  Dryden  must  undoubtedly  have 
yielded  to  Pope  in  satiric  writing,  it  is  incumbent  on 
the  partisans  of  Dryden  to  name  another  species  of 
composition  in  which  the  former  excels  so  as  to 
throw  the  balance  again  upon  the  side  of  Dryden. 
This  species  is  the  Lyric,  in  which  the  warmest  vota 
ries  of  Pope  must  certainly  acknowledge  that  he  is 
much  inferior;  as  an  irresistible  proof  of  this,  we  need 
only  compare  Mr.  Dryden's  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day 
with  Mr.  Pope's ,  in  which  the  disparity  is  so  appa 
rent  that  we  know  not  if  the  most  finished  of  Pope's 
compositions  has  discovered  such  a  variety  and  com 
mand  of  numbers. 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  XXTV 

It  hath  been  generally  acknowledged  that  the  Lyno 
is  a  more  excellent  kind  of  writing  than  the  Satiric 
and  consequently,  he  who  excels  in  the  most  excel 
lent  species,  must  undoubtedly  be  esteemed  the  great 
est  poet.  Mr.  Pope  has  very  happily  succeeded  in 
many  of  his  occasional  pieces,  such  as  Eloisa  to  Abe- 
lard,  his  Elegy  on  an  unfortunate  young  Lady,  and  a 
variety  of  other  performances  deservedly  celebrated. 
To  these  may  be  opposed  Mr.  Dryden's  Fables,  which 
though  written  in  a  very  advanced  age,  are  yet  the 
most  perfect  of  his  works.  In  these  Fables  there  is, 
perhaps,  a  greater  variety  than  in  Pope's  occasional 
pieces :  many  of  them  indeed,  are  translations,  but 
such  as  are  original  show  a  great  extent  of  invention, 
and  a  large  compass  of  genius. 

There  are  not  in  Pope's  works  such  poignant  dis 
coveries  of  wit,  or  such  a  general  knowledge  of  the 
humours  and  character  of  men,  as  in  the  Prologues 
and  Epilogues  of  Dryden,  which  are  the  best  records 
of  the  whims  and  capricious  oddities  of  the  times  in 
which  they  are  written. 

When  these  two  great  geniuses  are  considered  in 
the  light  of  translators,  it  will,  indeed,  be  difficult  to 
determine  into  whose  scale  the  balance  should  be 
thrown.  That  Mr.  Pope  had  a  more  arduous  pro 
vince  in  doing  justice  to  Homer,  than  Dryden  with 
regard  to  Virgil,  is  certainly  true ;  as  Homer  is  a 
more  various  and  diffuse  poet  than  Virgil;  and  it  is 
likewise  true  that  Pope  has  even  exceeded  Drydeii 
in  the  execution,  and  none  will  deny  that  Pope's 
Homer's  Iliad  is  a  finer  poem  than  Dryden's  ^Eneid 
of  Virgil,  making  a  proper  allowance  for  the  dispro 
portion  of  the  original  authors.  But  then  a  candid 
critic  should  reflect,  that  as  Dryden  was  prior  in  the 
great  attempt  of  rendering  Virgil  into  English,  so  did 
he  perform  the  task  under  many  disadvantages  whicli 
Pope,  by  a  happier  situation  in  life,  was  enabled  to 
ivoid  ;  and  could  not  but  improve  upon  Drydon'r 


UA  LIFE  OF  POPE. 

errors,  though  the  authors  translated  were  not  the 
same  :  and  it  is  much  to  be  doubted  if  Dryden  were 
to  translate  the  JEneid  now,  with  that  attention  which 
the  correctness  of  the  present  age  would  force  upon 
him,  whether  the  preference  would  be  due  to  Pope's 
Homer. 

But  supposing  it  to  be  yielded  (as  it  certainly  must) 
that  the  latter  bard  was  the  greatest  translator,  we  are 
now  to  throw  into  Mr.  Dryden's  scale  all  his  dramatic 
works ;  which,  though  not  the  most  excellent  of  his 
writings,  as  yet  nothing  of  Mr.  Pope's  can  be  op 
posed  to  them,  they  have  an  undoubted  right  to  turn 
the  balance  greatly  in  favour  of  Mr.  Dryden. — When 
the  two  poets  are  considered  as  critics,  the  compari 
son  will  very  imperfectly  hold.  Dryden's  Dedica 
tions  and  Prefaces,  besides  that  they  are  more  numer 
ous,  and  are  the  best  nredels  for  courtly  panegyric, 
show,  that  he  understood  poetry  as  an  art,  beyond 
any  man  that  ever  lived ;  and  he  explained  this  art  so 
well,  that  he  taught  his  antagonist  to  turn  the  tables 
against  himself;  for  he  so  illuminated  the  mind  by  his 
clear  and  perspicuous  reasoning,  that  dulness  itself 
became  capable  of  discerning;  and  when  at  anytime 
his  performances  fell  short  of  his  own  ideas  of  excel 
lence,  his  enemies  tried  him  by  rules  of  his  own 
establishing;  and  though  they  owed  to  him  the  ability 
of  judging,  they  seldom  had  candour  enough  to  spare 
him. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  true  that  Pope's  works  are  read 
with  more  appetite,  as  there  is  a  greater  evenness  and 
correctness  in  them ;  but  in  perusing  the  works  of 
Dryden,  the  mind  will  take  a  wider  range,  and  be 
more  fraught  with  poetical  ideas.  We  admire  Dry 
den  as  the  greater  genius,  and  Pope  as  the  most 
pleasing  versifier. — Gibber's  Lives. 

HE  corr.es,  he  comes !  bid  every  bard  prepare 
The  song  of  triumph,  and  attend  his  car. 


LIFE  OF  POPE.  xxxvii 

Great  Sheffield's  muse  the  long  procession  beads. 
And  throws  a  lustre  o'er  the  pomp  she  leads ; 
First  gives  the  palm  she  fir'd  him  to  obtain, 
Crowns  his  gay  brow,  and  shows  him  how  to  reign. 
Thus  young  Alcides,  by  old  Chiron  taught, 
Was  form'd  for  all  the  miracles  he  wrought : 
Thus  Chiron  did  the  youth  he  taught  applaud, 
Pleas'd  to  behold  the  earnest  of  a  god. 

But  hark!  what  s.jjuts,  what  gathering crowdsrqjoie* 
Unstain'd  their  praise  by  any  venal  voice, 
Such  as  th'  ambitious  vainly  think  their  due, 
When  prostitutes  or  needy  flatterers  sue. 
And  see  the  chief!  before  him  laurels  torn  ; 
Trophies  from  undeserving  temples  borne, 
Here  rage  enchain'd;  reluctant  raves:  and  there 
Pale  envy,  dumb  and  sick'ning  with  despair, 
Prone  to  the  earth  she  bends  her  loathing  eye, 
Weak  to  support  the  blaze  of  Majesty. 

But  who  are  they  that  turn  the  sacred  page  ? 
Three  lovely  virgins,  and  of  equal  age  ; 
Intent  they  read,  and  all  enamour'd  seem, 
As  he  that  met  his  likeness  in  the  stream  : 
The  graces  these  ;  and  see  how  they  contend, 
Who  most  shall  praise,  who  best  shall  recommend. 

The  chariot  now  the  painful  steep  ascends, 
The  psans  cease,  the  glorious  labour  ends. 
Here  fix'd,  the  bright  eternal  temple  stands, 
Its  prospect  an  unbounded  view  commands : 
Say,  wondrous  youth,  whift  column  wilt  thou  choose. 
What  laurell'd  arch  for  thy  triumphant  muse  ? 
Though  each  great  ancient  court  thee  to  his  shrine, 
Though  ev'ry  laurel  through  the  dome  be  thine, 
(From  the  proud  epic  down  to  those  that  shade 
The  gentler  brow  of  the  soft  Lesbian  maid,) 
Go  to  the  good  and  just,  and  awful  train, 
Thy  soul's  delight,  and  glory  of  the  fane; 
While  thro'  the  earth  thy  dear  remembrance  flies, 
•  Sweet  to  the  world  and  grateful  to  the  skies." 


THE 

POETICAL    WORKS 

OF 

ALEXANDER  POPE. 
PASTORALS* 


SPRING. 
THE  FIRST  PASTORAL ;  OR,  DAMON 

To  Sir  William  Trumbal. 
FIRST  in  these  fields  I  try  the  sylvan  strains, 
Nor  blush  to  sport  on  Windsor's  blissful  plains  : 
Fair  Thames,  flow  gently  from  thy  sacred  spring 
While  on  thy  banks  Sicilian  muses  sing  ; 
Let  vernal  airs  through  trembling  osiers  play, 
And  Albion's  cliffs  resound  the  rural  lay. 

You  that,  too  wise  for  pride,  too  good  for  power 
Enjoy  the  glory  to  be  great  no  more, 
And,  carrying  with  you  all  the  world  can  boast, 
To  all  the  world  illustriously  are  lost ; 
O  let  my  muse  her  slender  reed  inspire, 
Till  in  your  native  shades  you  tune  the  lyre. 
So  when  the  nightingale  to  rest  removes, 
The  thrush  may  chant  to  the  forsaken  groves, 
But  charm'd  to  silence,  listens  while  she  sings, 
And  all  the  aerial  audience  clap  their  wings. 

Soon  as  the  liocks  shook  off  the  nightly  dews, 
Two  swains,  whom  love  kept  wakeful,  and  the  muse, 
Pour'd  o'er  the  whitening  vale  their  fleecy  care, 
Fresh  as  the  morn,  and  as  the  season  fair : 

39 


40  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

The  dawn  now  blushing  on  the  mountain's  side, 
Thus  Daphnis  spoke,  and  Strephon  thus  replied 
DAPHNIS. 

Hear  how  the  birds,  on  every  bloomy  spray, 
With  joyous  music  wake  the  dawning  day! 
Why  sit  we  mute,  when  early  linnets  sing, 
When  warbling  Philomel  salutes  the  spring  ? 
Why  sit  we  sad,  when  Phosphor  shines  so  clear, 
And  lavish  Nature  paints  the  purple  year? 
STREPHO.V. 

Sing  then,  and  Damon  shall  attend  the  strain, 
While  yon  slow  oxen  turn  the  furrow'd  plain. 
Here  the  bright  crocus  and  blue  violet  glow, 
Here  western  winds  on  breathing  roses  blow. 
I'll  stake  yon  lamb,  that  near  the  fountain  plays, 
And  from  the  brink  his  dancing  shade  surveys. 
DAPHNIS. 

And  I  this  bowl,  where  wanton  ivy  twines, 
And  swelling  clusters  bend  the  curling  vines  : 
Four  figures  rising  from  the  work  appear, 
The  various  seasons  of  the  rolling  year; 
And  what  is  that  which  binds  the  radiant  sky, 
Where  twelve  fair  signs  in  beauteous  order  lie? 
DAMON. 

Then  sing  by  turns,  by  turns  the  muses  sing  : 
Now  hawthorns  blossom,  now  the  daisies  spring 
Now  leaves  the  trees,  and  flowers  adorn  the  gro.nci 
Begin,  the  vales  shall  every  note  resound. 
STREPHON. 

Inspire  me,  Phoebus,  in  my  Delia's  praise, 
With  Waller's  strains,  or  Granville's  moving  lay*  ' 
A  milk-white  bull  shall  at  your  altar  stand, 
That  threats  a  fight,  and  spurns  the  rising  sand. 
DAPHNIS. 

O  Love  !  for  Sylvia  let  me  gain  the  prize, 
And  make  my  tongue  victorious  as  her  eyes  , 
No  lambs  or  sheep  for  victims  I'll  impart, 
Thy  victim,  Love,  shall  be  the  shepherd's  heart 


PASTORALS.  U 

STREPHON. 

Me  gentle  Delia  beckons  from  the  plain, 
Then,  hid  in  shades,  eludes  her  eager  swain; 
But  fergns  a  laugh,  to  see  me  search  around, 
And  by  that  laugh  the  willing  fair  is  found. 

DAPHNIS. 

The  sprightly  Sylvia  trips  along  the  green  ; 
She  runs,  but  hopes  r'.ie  does  not  run  unseej : 
Wliile  a  kind  glance  at  her  pursuer  flies, 
How  much  at  variance  are  her  feet  and  eyes  ! 

STREPHON. 

O'er  golden  sands  let  rich  Pactolus  flow, 
And  trees  weep  amber  on  the  banks  of  Po  ; 
Blest  Thames's  shores  the  brightest  beauties  yield. 
Feed  here,  my  lambs,  I'll  seek  no  distant  field 

DAPHNIS. 

Celestial  Venus  haunts  Idalia's  grove?  ; 
Diana  Cynthus,  Ceres  Hyhla  loves  ; 
If  Windsor  shades  delight  the  matchless  maid, 
Cynthus  and  Hybla  yield  to  Windsor-shade. 

STREPHON. 

All  Nature  mourns,  the  skies  relent  in  showers, 
Hush'd  are  the  birds,  and  closed  the  drooping  flowers  j 
If  Delia  smile,  the  flowers  begin  to  spring, 
The  skies  to  brighten,  and  the  birds  to  sing. 

DAPHNIS. 

All  Nature  laughs,  the  groves  are  fresh  and  fair 
The  sun's  mild  lustre  warms  the  vital  air ; 
'f  Sylvia  smile,  new  glories  gild  the  shore, 
And  vanquish'd  Nature  seems  to  charm  no  more 

STREPHON. 

In  spring  the  fields,  in  autumn  hills  I  love, 
At  morn  the  plains,  at  noon  the  shady  grove, 
But  Delia  always  ;  absent  from  her  sight, 
Nor  plains  at  morn,  nor  groves  at  noon  delight 

DAPHNIS. 

Sylvia's  like  autumn  ripe,  yet  mild  as  May 
More  blight  than  noon,  yet  fresh  as  early  day  : 


42  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

E'en  spring  displeases  when  she  shines  not  here ; 
But,  bless'd  with  her,  'tis  spring  throughout  the  yeai 
STREPHON. 

Say,  Daphnis,  say,  in  what  glad  soil  appears, 
A  wondrous  tree  that  sacred  monarchs  bears  : 
Tell  me  but  this,  and  I'll  disclaim  the  prize, 
And  give  the  conquest  to  thy  Sylvia's  eyes. — 
DAPHNIS. 

Nay,  tell  me  first,  in  what  more-happy  fields 
The  thistle  springs,  to  which  the  lily  yields  : 
And  then  a  nobler  prize  I  will  resign  , 
For  Sylvia,  charming  Sylvia,  shall  be  thine. 
DAMON'. 

Cease  to  contend  ;  for,  Daphnis,  I  decree, 
The  bowl  to  Strephon,  and  the  lamb  to  thee. 
Blest  swains,  whose  nymphs  in  every  grace  excel ; 
Blest  nymphs,  whose  swains  those  graces  sing  so  well 
Now  rise  and  haste  to  yonder  woodbine  bowers, 
A  soft  retreat  from  sudden  vernal  showers  : 
The  turf  with  rural  dainties  shall  be  crown'd, 
While  opening  blooms  diffuse  their  sweets  around. 
For  see  !  the  gathering  flocks  to  shelter  tend, 
And  from  the  Pleiads  fruitful  showers  descend. 


SUMMER. 

THE  SECOND  PASTORAL;  OR,  ALEXIS 

To  Dr.  Garlli. 

A  SHEPHERD'S  boy  (he  seeks  no  better  name) 
Led  forth  his  flocks  along  the  silver  Thame, 
Where  dancing  sun-beams  on  tlie  waters  play'd, 
And  verdant  alders  form'd  a  quivering  shade 
Soft  as  he  mourri'd,  the  streams  forgot  to  flow, 
The  flocks  around  a  dumb  compassion  show 
The  Naiads  wept  in  every  watery  bower, 
Ami  Jove  consented  in  a  siienl  shower. 


PASTORALS.  41 

Accept,  O  Garth,  the  muse's  early  lays, 
That  adds  this  wreath  of  ivy  to  thy  bays ; 
Hear  what  from  love  unpractised  hearts  endure, 
From  love,  the  sole  disease  thou  canst  not  cure. 

Ye  shady  beeches,  and  ye  cooling  streams, 
Defence  from  Phoebus',  not  from  Cupid's  beams, 
To  you  I  mourn ;  nor  to  Xhe  deaf  I  sing  ; 
The  woods  shall  answer,  and  their  echo  ring. 
The  hills  and  rocks  attend  my  doleful  lay  : 
Why  art  thou  prouder  and  more  hard  than  they  T 
The  bleating  sheep  with  my  complaints  agree, 
They  parch'd  with  heat,  and  I  inflam'd  by  thee. 
The  sultry  Sirius  burns  the  thirsty  plains, 
While  in  thy  heart  eternal  winter  reigns. 

Where  stray  ye,  muses,  in  what  lawn  or  grove, 
While  your  Alexis  pines  in  hopeless  love  ? 
In  those  fair  fields  where  sacred  Isis  glides, 
Or  else  where  Cam  his  winding  vales  divides  ? 
As  in  the  chrystal  spring  I  view  my  face, 
Fresh  rising  blushes  paint  the  watery  glass  ; 
But  since  those  graces  please  thine  eyes  no  more, 
I  shun  the  fountains  which  1  sought  before. 
Once  I  was  skill'd  in  every  herb  that  grew, 
And  every  plant  that  drinks  the  morning  dew 
Ah,  wretched  shepherd!  what  avails  thy  art, 
To  cure  thy  lambs,  but  not  to  heal  thy  heart ! 

Let  other  swains  attend  the  rural  care, 
Feed  fairer  flocks,  or  richer  fleeces  shear  : 
But  nigh  yon  mountain  let  me  tune  my  lays, 
Embrace  my  love,  and  bind  my  brows  with  baya 
That  flute  is  mine  which  Colin's  tuneful  breath 
Inspired  when  living,  and  bequeathed  in  death  : 
He  said:  '  Alexis,  take  this  pipe,  the  same 
That  taught  the  groves/my  Rosalinda's  name.' 
But  now  the  reed  shall  hang  on  yonder  tree, 
For  ever  silent,  since  despis'd  by  thee. 
O!  were  I  made  by  some  transforming  power, 
The  captive  bird  that  sines  within  thy  bower ! 


44  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Then  might  my  voice  thy  listening  ears  employ, 
And  I  those  kisses  he  receives  enjoy. 

And  yet  my  numbers  please  the  rural  throng, 
Rough  satyrs  dance,  and  Pan  applauds  the  song  • 
The  nymphs  forsaking  every  cave  and  spring, 
Their  early  fruit  and  milk-white  turtles  bring ; 
Each  amorous  nymph  prefers  her  gifts  in  vain, 
On  you  their  gifts  are  all  bestow'd  again : 
For  you  the  swains  the  fairest  flowers  design, 
And  in  one  garland  all  their  beauties  join  ; 
Accept  the  wreath  which  you  deserve  alone, 
In  whom  all  beauties  are  comprised  in  one. 

See  what  delights  in  sylvan  scenes  appear  ! 
Descending  gods  have  found  Elysium  here. 
In  woods  bright  Venus  with  Adonis  stray'd, 
And  chaste  Diana  haunts  the  forest  shade. 
Come,  lovely  nymph,  and  bless  the  silent  hours, 
When  swains  from  shearing  seek  their  nightly  bower* , 
When  weary  reapers  quit  the  sultry  field, 
And  crown'd  with  corn  their  thanks  to  Ceres  yield. 
This  harmless  grove  no  lurking  viper  hides, 
But  in  my  breast  the  serpent  Love  abides. 
Here  bees  from  blossoms  sip  the  rosy  dew, 
But  your  Alexis  knows  no  sweets  but  you. 
O  deign  to  visit  our  forsaken  seats, 
The  mossy  fountains,  and  the  green  retreats  ! 
Where'er  you  walk,  cool  gales  shall  fan  the  glade  ; 
Trees,  where  you  sit,  shall  crowd  into  a  shade  ; 
Where'er  you  tread,  the  blushing  flowers  shall  rise, 
And  all  things  flourish  where  you  turn  your  eyes. 
O  !  how  I  long  with  you  to  pass  my  days, 
Invoke  the  Muses,  and  resound  your  praise  ! 
Your  praise  the  birds  shall  chant  in  every  grove, 
And  winds  shall  waft  it  to  the  powers  above. 
But  would  you  sing,  and  rival  Orpheus'  strain, 
The  wondering  forests  soon  should  dance  again, 
The  moving  mountains  hear  the  powerful  call, 
And  headlong  streams  hang  listening  in  their  fall ' 


PASTORALS.  45 

But  see,  the  shepherds  shun  the  noon-day  heat, 
The  lowing  herds  to  murmuring  brooks  retreat, 
To  closer  shades  the  panting  flocks  remove. 
Ye  gods  !  and  is  there  no  relief  for  love? 
But  soon  the  sun  with  milder  rays  descends 
To  the  cool  ocean,  where  his  journey  ends  : 
On  me  Love's  fiercer  flames  for  ever  prey, 
By  night  he  scorches,  as  he  burns  by  day. 


AUTUMN. 

THE  THIRD  PASTORAL;  OR,  HYLAS  AND 

jEGON. 
To  Mr.  Wycherley. 

BENEATH  the  shade  a  spreading  beech  displays, 
Hylas  and  jEgon  sang  their  rural  lays  : 
This  mourn'd  a  faithless,  that  an  absent  love  ; 
And  Delia's  name  and  Doris'  fill'd  the  grove. 
Ye  Mantuan  nymphs,  your  sacred  succours  bring; 
Hylas'  and  jEgon's  rural  lays  I  sing. 

Thou,  whom  the  Nine  with  Plautus'  wit  inspire, 
The  art  of  Terence  and  Menander's  fire  ; 
Whose  sense  instructs  us,  and  whose  humour  charms 
Whose  judgment  sways  us,  and  whose  spirit  warms 
Oh !  skill'd  in  nature  !  see  the  hearts  of  swains 
Their  artless  passions,  and  their  tender  pains. 

Now  setting  Phoebus  shone  serenely  bright, 
And  fleecy  clouds  were  streak'd  with  purple  light ; 
When  tuneful  Hylas,  with  melodious  moan, 
Taught  rocks  to  weep,  and  made  the  mountains  groan 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away 
To  Delia's  ear  the  tender  notes  convey. 
As  some  sad  turtle  his  lost  love  deplores, 
And  with  deep  murmurs  fills  the  sounding  shores  ; 
Thus,  far  from  Delia,  to  the  winds  I  mourn, 
Alike  unheard,  unpitied,  and  forlorn. 


46  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  along ! 
For  her,  the  feather'd  quires  neglect  their  song: 
For  her,  the  limes  their  pleasing  shades  deny  : 
For  her  the  lilies  hang  their  heads  and  die. 
Ye  flowers  that  droop,  forsaken  by  the  spring, 
Ye  birds,  that  left  by  summer  cease  to  sing, 
Ye  trees  that  fade  when  autumn  heats  remove, 
Say,  is  not  absence  death  to  those  who  love? 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away  ! 
Cursed  be  the  fields  that  cause  my  Delia's  stay ; 
Fade  every  blossom,  wither  every  tree, 
Die  every  flower,  and  perish  all,  but  she ; 
What  have  I  said  ?     Where'er  my  Delia  flies, 
Let  spring  attend,  and  sudden  flowers  arise! 
Let  opening  roses  knotted  oaks  adorn, 
And  liquid  amber  drop  from  every  thorn. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  along! 
The  birds  shall  cease  to  tune  their  evening  song, 
The  winds  to  breathe,  the  waving  woods  to  move, 
And  streams  to  murmur,  ere  I  cease  to  love. 
Not  bubbling  fountains  to  the  thirsty  swain, 
Not  balmy  sleep  to  labourers  faint  with  pain, 
Not  showers  to  larks,  or  sunshine  to  the  bee, 
Are  half  so  charming  as  thy  sight  to  me. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away ! 
Come,  Delia,  come;  ah,  why  this  long  delay? 
Through  rocks  and  caves  the  name  of  Delia  souno» 
Delia,  each  cave  and  echoing  rock  rebounds. 
Ye  powers,  what  pleasing  frenzy  soothes  my  mind 
Do  lovers  dream,  or  is  my  Delia  kind  ? 
She  comes,  my  Delia  comes  !     Now  cease  my  lay, 
And  cease,  ye  gales,  to  bear  my  sighs  away  ! 

Next  JEgon  sang,  while  Windsor  groves  admired 
Rehearse,  ye  muses,  what  yourselves  inspired. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strain  ! 
Of  perjured  Doris,  dying  I  complain: 
Here  where  the  mountains,  lessening  as  they  rise, 
Lose  the  low  vales,  and  steal  into  the  skies ; 


PASTORALS.  « 

While  labouring  oxen,  spent  with  toil  and  heat, 
In  their  loose  traces  from  the  field  retreat ; 
While  curling  smokes  from  village  tops  are  seen, 
And  the  fleet  shades  glido  o'er  the  dusky  green. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay! 
Beneath  yon  poplar  oft  we  pass'd  the  day : 
Oft  on  the  rind  I  carved  her  amorous  vows, 
While  she  with  garlands  hung  the  bending  boughs; 
The  garlands  fade,  the  vows  are  worn  away : 
So  dies  my  love,  and  so  my  hopes  decay. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strain! 
Now  bright  Arcturus  glads  the  teeming  grain  ; 
Now  golden  fruits  on  loaded  branches  shine, 
And  grateful  clusters  swell  with  floods  of  wine; 
Now  blushing  berries  paint  the  yellow  grove. 
Just  gods !  shall  all  things  yield  returns  but  love  ? 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay ; 
The  shepherds  cry,  '  Thy  flocks  are  left  a  prey.' 
Ah !  what  avails  it  me  the  flocks  to  keep, 
Who  lost  my  heart  while  I  preserved  my  sheep  ? 
Pan  came,  and  ask'd,  what  rnagic  caused  my  smart, 
Or  what  ill  eyes  malignant  glances  dart  ? 
What  eyes  but  hers,  alas,  have  power  to  move? 
And  is  there  magic  but  what  dwells  in  love? 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strains! 
I'll  fly  from  shepherds,  flocks,  and  flowery  plains. 
From  shepherds,  flock?,  and  plains,  I  may  remove, 
Forsake  mankind,  and  al!  the  world  but  love ; 
I  know  thee,  Love  !  on  foreign  mountains  bred  ; 
Wolves  gave  thec  suck,  and  savage. tigers  fed : 
Thou  wert  from  Etna's  burning  entrails  torn, 
iot  by  fierce  whirlwinds,  and  in  thunder  born. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay ! 
Farewell,  ye  woods  ;  adieu,  the  light  of  day ; 
One  leap  from  yonder  cliff  shall  end  my  pains. 
No  more,  ye  hills,  no  more  resound  my  strains. 

Thus  sang  the  shepherds  till  the  approach  of  night 
The  skies  yet  blushing  with  departed  light, 


*8  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

When  falling  dews  with  spangles  deck  the  glade, 
And  the  low  sun  had  lengthen'd  every  shade. 


WINTER. 

THE  FOURTH  PASTORAL;  OR,  DAPHNil 

1*0  the  Memory  of  Mrs.  Tempest 

LYCIDAS. 

THYRSIS,  the  music  of  that  murmuring  spring 
Is  not  so  mournful  as  the  strains  you  sing: 
Nor  rivers  winding  through  the  vales  below, 
So  sweetly  warble,  or  so  smoothly  flow. 
Now  sleeping  flocks  on  their  soft  fleeces  lie, 
The  moon,  serene  in  glory,  mounts  the  sky, 
While  silent  birds  forget  their  tuneful  lays, 
O  sing  of  Daphne's  fate,  and  Daphne's  praise  ! 
THYRSIS. 

Behold  the  groves  that  shine  with  silver  frost, 
Their  beauty  wither'd,  and  their  verdure  lost : 
Here  shall  I  try  the  sweet  Alexis'  strain, 
That  call'd  the  listening  Dryads  to  the  plain : 
Thames  heard  the  numbers  as  he  flow'd  along, 
And  bade  his  willows  learn  the  moving  song. 
LYCIDAS. 

So  may  kind  rains  their  vital  moisture  yield, 
And  swell  the  future  harvest  of  the  field. 
Begin ;  this  charge  the  dying  Daphne  gave, 
And  said,  'Ye  shepherds,  sing  around  my  grave :' 
Sing,  while  beside  the  shaded  tomb  I  mourn 
And  with  fresh  bays  her  rural  shrine  adorn. 
THYRSIS. 

Ye  gentle  muses,  leave  your  chrystal  spring, 
Let  nymphs  and  sylvans  cypress  garlands  briii£ . 
Ye  weeping  Loves,  the  stream  with  myrtles  hide, 
And  break  your  bows  as  when  Adonis  died  ; 


PASTORALS.  49 

And  with  your  golden  darts,  now  useless  grown, 
Inscribe  a  verse  on  this  relenting  stone  ; 
'  Let  Nature  change,  let  heaven  and  earth  deplore ; 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  love  is  now  no  more  !' 

'Tis  done,  and  Nature's  various  charms  decay  : 
See  gloomy  clouds  obscure  the  cheerful  day  : 
Now  hung  witli  pearls  the  dropping  trees  appear, 
Their  faded  honours  scatter'd  on  her  bier. 
See  where,  on  earth,  the  flowery  glories  lie ; 
With  her  they  flourished,  and  with  her  they  die. 
Ah!  what  avail  the  beauties  nature  wore; 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  beauty  is  no  more  ! 

For  her  the  flocks  refuse  their  verdant  food ; 
The  thirsty  heifers  shun  the  gliding  flood  : 
The  silver  swans  her  hapless  fate  bemoan, 
In  notes  more  sad  than  when  they  sing  their  own: 
In  hollow  caves  sweet  Echo  silent  lies, 
Silent,  or  only  to  her  name  replies: 
Her  name  with  pleasure  once  she  taught  the  shore: 
Now  Daphne's  dead,  and  pleasure  is  no  more ! 

No  grateful  dews  descend  from  evening  skies, 
Nor  morning  odours  from  the  flowers  arise ; 
No  rich  perfumes  refresh  the  fruitful  field, 
Nor  fragrant  herbs  their  native  incense  yield. 
The  balmy  Zephyrs,  silent  since  her  death, 
Lament  the  ceasing  of  a  sweeter  breath  ; 
The  industrious  bees  neglect  their  golden  store  : 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  sweetness  is  no  more  ! 

No  more  the  mounting  larks,  while  Daphne  sings. 
Shall,  listening  in  mid  air,  suspend  their  wings ; 
No  more  the  birds  shall  imitate  her  lays, 
Or,  hush'd  with  wonder,  hearken  from  the  sprays: 
No  more  the  streams  their  murmurs  shall  forbear. 
A  sweeter  music  than  their  own  to  hear  ; 
But  tell  the  reeds,  and  tell  the  vocal  shore, 
Fair  Daphne  s  dead,  and  music  is  no  more ! 

Her  fate  is  whisper' d  by  the  gentle  breeze, 
And  told  iii  sijflis  io  all  the  trembling  trees  ; 
4 


50  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  trembling  trees,  in  every  plain  and  wood, 

Her  fate  remurmur  to  the  silver  flood ; 

The  silver  flood,  so  lately  calm,  appears 

S well'd  with  new  passion,  and  o'erflows  with  tears; 

The  winds,  and  trees,  and  floods,  her  death  deplore. 

Daphne  our  grief,  our  glory  now  no  more ! 

But  see  !  where  Daphne  wondering  mounts  on  high 
Above  the  clouds,  above  the  starry  sky  ! 
Eternal  beauties  grace  the  shining  scene, 
Fields  ever  fresh,  and  groves  for  ever  green  ! 
There,  while  you  rest  in  amaranthine  bowers, 
Or  from  those  meads  select  unfading  flowers, 
Behold  us  kindly,  who  your  name  implore, 
Daphne,  our  goddess,  and  our  grief  no  more ! 
LYCIDAS. 

How  all  things  listen,  while  thy  muse  complains  \ 
Such  silence  waits  on  Philomela's  strains, 
In  some  still  evening,  when  the  whispering  breeze 
Pants  on  lie  leaves,  and  dies  upon  the  trees. 
To  thee,  bright  goddess,  oft  a  lamb  shall  bleed, 
If  teeming  ewes  increase  my  fleecy  breed. 
While  plants  their  shade,  or  flowers  their  odours  give, 
Thy  name,  thy  honour,  and  thy  praise,  shall  live ! 
THYRSIS. 

But  see  !  Orion  sheds  unwholesome  dews  ; 
Arise,  the  pines  a  noxious  shade  diffuse; 
Sharp  Boreas  blows,  and  Nature  feels  decay ; 
Time  conquers  all,  and  we  must  Time  obey. 
Adieu,  ye  vales,  ye  mountains,  streams,  and  groves  ; 
Adieu,  ye  shepherd's  rural  lays  and  loves ; 
Adieu,  my  flocks ;  farewell,  ye  sylvan  crew : 
Daphne,  farewell !  and  all  the  world,  adieu .' 


(  51  ) 

MESSIAH. 

A  sacred  Eclogue  in  Imitation  of  Virgil's  Pottio. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

hi  reading  several  passages  of  the  prophet  Isaiah,  which 
foretell  the  coming  of  Christ,  and  the  felicities  attend 
ing  it,  I  could  not  hut  observe  a  remarkable  parity  be 
tween  many  of  the  thoughts,  anil  those  in  the  I'ollio 
of  Virgil.  This  will  not  seem  surprising  when  we  re 
flect,  that  the  eclogue  was  taken  from  a  Sibylline  pro 
phecy  on  the  same  subject.  One  may  judge  that  Virgil 
did  not  copy  it  line  for  line;  but  selected  such  ideas  as 
best  agreed  with  the  nature  of  pastoral  poetry,  and 
disposed  them  in  that  manner  which  served  most  to 
beautify  his  piece.  I  have  endeavoured  the  same  in 
this  imitation  of  him,  though  without  admitting  any 
thing  of  my  own ;  since  it  was  written  with  this  par 
ticular  view,  that  the  reader  by  comparing  the  sevenil 
thoughts,  might  see  how  far  the  images  and  descriptions 
of  the  prophet  are  superior  to  those  of  the  poet. 

YE  nymphs  of  Solyma !  begin  the  song : 
To  heavenly  themes  sublimer  strains  belong. 
The  mossy  fountains  and  the  sylvan  shades, 
The  dreams  of  Pindus  and  the  Aonian  maids, 
Delight  no  more — O  Thou  my  voice  inspire, 
Who  touoh'd  Isaiah's  hallow'd  lips  with  fire ! 

Rapt  into  future  times,  the  bard  begun : 
.4  Virgin  shall  conceive,  a  Virgin  bear  a  Son  ! 
From  Jesse's1  root  behold  a  branch  arise, 
Whose  sacred  flower  with  fragrance  fills  the  skies:   10 
The  ethereal  spirit  o'er  its  leaves  shall  move, 
And  on  its  top  descends  the  mystic  dove. 
Ye  heavens  !2  from  high  the  dewy  nectar  pour, 
And  in  soft  silence  shed  the  kindly  shower ! 
The  sick3  and  weak  the  healing  plant  shall  aid,       15 
From  storm  a  shelter,  and  from  heat  a  shade. 

(1)  Isa.  xi.  ver  I.       r-2)  Ch.  xlv.  ver.  8.      (3)  Ch.  XIT 
»er.  4. 


52  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

All  crimes  shall  cease,  and  ancient  frauds  shall  fail; 
Returning  Justice1  lift  aloft  her  scale ; 
Peace  o'er  the  world  her  olive  wand,  extend, 
And  white-robed  Innocence  from  heaven  descend.  20 
Swift  fly  the  years,  and  rise  the  expected  morn  ! 
Oh  spring  to  light,  auspicious  Babe,  be  born ! 
See,  Nature  hastes  her  earliest  wreaths  to  bring, 
With  all  the  incense  of  the  breathing  spring : 
See  lofty  Lebanon2  his  head  advance,  25 

See  nodding  forests  on  the  mountains  dance : 
See  spicy  clouds  from  lowly  Saron  rise, 
And  Carmel's  flowery  top  perfume  the  skies 
Hark !  a  glad  voice  the  lonely  desert  cheers  ; 
Prepare  the  way  !3  A  God,  a  God  appears  !  30 

A  God,  a  God !  the  vocal  hills  reply ; 
The  rocks  proclaim  the  approaching  Deity. 
Lo,  earth  receives  him  from  the  bending  skies  ! 
Sink  down,  ye  mountains ;  and  ye  valleys,  rise ! 
With  heads  declined,  ye  cedars,  homage  pay ;        35 
Be  smooth,  ye  rocks  !  ye  rapid  floods,  give  way ! 
The  Saviour  comes  !  by  ancient  bards  foretold : 
Hear  him,  ye  deaf!  and  all  ye  blind,  behold! 
He  from  thick  films  shall  purge  the  visual  ray, 
And  on  the  sightless  eye-ball  pour  the  day  .  40 

'Tis  he  the  obstructed  paths  of  sound  shall  clear, 
And  bid  new  music  charm  the  unfolding  ear : 
The  dumb4  shall  sing,  the  lame  his  crutch  forego, 
And  leap  exulting,  like  the  bounding  roe. 
No  sigh,  no  murmur,  the  wide  world  shall  hear ;    45 
From  every  face  he  wipes  off  every  tear. 
In  adamantine5  chains  shall  death  be  bound, 
And  hell's  grim  tyrant  feel  the  eternal  wound. 
As  the  good  shepherd6  tends  his  fleecy  care, 
Seeks  freshest  pasture,  and  the  purest  air ;  flu 

Explores  the  lost,  the  wandering  sheep  directs. 
By  day  o'ersees  them,  and  by  night  protects ; 

(])  Ch.  ix.  ver.  7.  (2)  Ch.  xxxv.  ver.  2.  (3)  Ch.  xl. 
ver.  3,  4.  (4)  Ch.  xliii.  ver.  18.  and  ch.  xxxv. ver.  5,  (i 
(5)  Ch.  xxv.  ver.  8.  (6)  Ch.  xi.  ver.  11. 


MESSIAH.  53 

The  tender  lambs  he  raises  in  his  arms, 

Feeds  from  his  hand,  and  in  his  bosom  warms : 

Thus  shall  mankind  his  guardian  care  engage,        55 

The  promised  father1  of  the  future  age. 

No  more  shall  nation2  against  nation  rise, 

Nor  ardent  warriors  meet  with  hateful  eyes, 

Nor  fields  with  gleaming  steel  be  cover'd  o'er, 

The  brazen  trumpets  kindle  rage  no  more  ;  60 

But  useless  lances  into  scythes  shall  bend, 

And  the  broad  falchion  in  a  plough-share  end. 

Then  palaces  shall  rise ;  the  joyful  son3 

Shall  finish  what  his  short-lived  sire  begun ; 

Their  vines  a  shadow  to  their  race  shall  yield,        65 

And  the  same  hand  that  sow'd,  shall  reap  the  field. 

The  swain  in  barren  deserts4  with  surprise 

Sees  lilies  spring,  and  sudden  verdure  rise ; 

And  starts,  amidst  the  thirsty  wilds  to  hear 

New  falls  of  water  murmuring  in  his  ear.  70 

On  rifted  rocks,  the  dragon's  late  abodes, 

The  green  reed  trembles,  and  the  bulrush  nods. 

Waste  sandy  valleys,5  once  perplex'd  with  thorn, 

The  spiry  fir  and  shapely  box  adorn  : 

To  leafless  shrubs  the  flowery  palms  succeed,        75 

And  odorous  myrtle  to  the  noisome  weed. 

The  lambs6  with  wolves  shall  graze  the  verdant  mead, 

And  boys  in  flowery  bands  the  tiger  lead. 

The  steer  and  lion  at  one  crib  shall  meet, 

And  harmless  serpents7  lick  the  pilgrim's  feet.        8) 

The  smiling  infant  in  his  hand  shall  take 

The  crested  basilisk  and  speckled  snake, 

Pleased,  the  green  lustre  of  the  scales  survey, 

And  with  their  forky  tongue  shall  innocently  play. 

Rise,  crown'd  with  light,  imperial  Salem,8  rise !       85 

Exalt  thy  towery  head,  and  lift  thy  eyes  ! 

(1)  Ch.  ix.  ver.  0.     (2)  Ch.  ii.  vcr.  4.     (3)  Ch.  Ixv.  ve 
21,  22.      (4)  Ch.  xxxv.  ver.  1,7.  (5)  Ch.  xli.  ver. 

and  ch.  Iv.  ver.  JH.         (6)  Ch  xi.  ver.  6,  7,  8.         (7) 
Ixv.  vcr.  25.        (8<  Ch  Ix.  ver.  1. 


64  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

See  a  long  race1  thy  spacious  courts  adorn  ; 

See  future  sons,  and  daughters  yet  unborn, 

In  crowding  ranks  on  every  side  arise, 

Demanding  life,  impatient  for  the  skies  !  90 

See  barbarous  nations2  at  thy  gates  attend, 

Walk  in  thy  light,  and  in  thy  temple  bend ; 

See  thy  bright  altars  throng'd  with  prostrate  kings, 

And  heap'd  with  products  of  Sabean3  springs  ! 

For  thee  Idume's  spicy  forests  blow,  95 

And  seeds  of  gold  in  Ophir's  mountains  glow  : 

See  heaven  its  sparkling  portals  wide  display, 

And  break  upon  them  in  a  flood  of  day  ! 

No  more  the  rising  sun1  shall  gild  the  morn, 

Nor  evening  Cynthia  fill  her  silver  horn  ;  100 

But  lost,  dissolved  in  thy  superior  rays, 

One  tide  of  glory,  one  unclouded  blaze, 

O'erflow  thy  courts:  the  Light  himself  shall  shine 

Reveal'd,  and  God's  eternal  day  be  thine ! 

The  seas5  shall  waste,  the  skies  in  smoke  decay,  105 

Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  mountains  melt  away ; 

But  fix'd  his  word,  his  saving  power  remains ; 

Thy  realm  for  ever  lasts,  thy  own  Messiah  reigns ! 


WINDSOR  FOREST. 

To  the  Right  Honourable  George  Lord  Lansdowne 

Non  injussa  cano :  te  nostrie,  Vare,  myricte. 

Te  nemus  oinne  canet ;  nee  Phoebo  gratior  ulla  est, 

Uuain  sibi  quoe  Vari  pra;scripsit  pagina  nomen. 

VIRGIL. 

THY  forest,  Windsor !  and  thy  green  retreats, 
At  once  the  Monarch's  and  the  Muses'  seats, 
Invite  my  lays.     Be  present,  sylvan  maids  ! 
Unlock  your  springs,  and  open  all  your  shades. 

(1)  Ch.  Ix.  ver.  4.     (2)  Ch.  Ix.  ver.  3.    (3)  Ch.  Ix.  ver.  0 
(4)  Ch.  Ix.  ver.  19,  20.  (5)  Ch.  li.  ver.  C,  and  ch.  liT 

ver.  10. 


WINDSOR  FOREST. 


53 


Granville  commands  ;  your  aid,  O  muses,  oring 
What  muse  for  Granville  can  refuse  to  sing  ? 

The  groves  of  Eden,  vanish'd  now  so  long, 
Live  in  description,  and  look  green  in  song ; 
These,  were  my  breast  inspired  with  equal  flame, 
Like  them  in  beauty,  should  be  like  in  fame. 
Here  hills  and  vales,  the  woodland  and  the  plain, 
Here  earth  and  water  seem  to  strive  again  ; 
Not  chaos-like  together  crush'd  and  bruised, 
But,  as  the  world,  harmoniously  confused  ; 
Where  order  in  variety  we  see, 
And  where,  though  all  things  differ,  all  agree. 
Here  waving  groves  a  chequer'd  scene  display 
And  part  admit,  arid  part  exclude  the  day ; 
As  some  coy  nymph  her  lover's  warm  address, 
Nor  quite  indulges,  nor  can  quite  repress. 
There,  interspersed  in  lawns  and  opening  glades, 
Thin  trees  arise  that  sun  each  other's  shades. 
Here  in  full  light  the  russet  plains  extend  ; 
There,  wrapt  in  clouds,  the  blueish  hills  ascend. 
E'en  the  wild  heath  displays  her  purple  dyes, 
And  'midst  the  desert,  fruitful  fields  arise, 
That,  crown'd  with  tufted  trees  and  springing  corn, 
Like  verdant  isles  the  sable  waste  adorn. 
Let  India  boast  her  plants,  nor  envy  we 
The  weeping  amber,  or  the  balmy  tree, 
While  by  our  oaks  the  precious  loads  are  borne, 
And  realms  commanded  which  those  trees  adorn. 
Not  proud  Olympus  yields  a  nobler  sight, 
Though  gods  assembled  grace  his  towering  height, 
Than  what  more  humble  mountains  offer  here, 
Where,  in  their  blessings,  all  those  gods  appear. 
See  Pan  with  flocks,  with  fruits  Pomona  crown'd, 
Here  blushing  Flora  paints  the  enamell'd  ground, 
Here  Ceres'  gifts  in  waving  prospect  ttand, 
And  nodding  tempt  the  joyful  reaper's  hand  ; 
Rich  industry  sits  smiling  on  the  plains, 
A.nd  peace  and  plenty  tell,  a  Stuart  reigna. 


56  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Not  thus  the  land  appear'd  in  ages  past, 
A  dreary  desert,  and  a  gloomy  waste, 
To  savage  beasts  and  savage  laws  a  prey, 
And  kings  more  furious  and  severe  than  they; 
Who  claim'd  the  skies,  dispeopled  air  and  floods, 
The  lonely  lords  of  empty  wilds  and  woods  : 
Cities  laid  waste,  they  storm'd  the  dens  and  caves 
(For  wiser  brutes  were  backward  to  be  slaves.) 
What  could  be  free,  when  lawless  beasts  obey'd, 
And  e'en  the  elements  a  tyrant  sway'd  ? 
In  vain  kind  seasons  swell'd  the  teeming  grain; 
Soft  showers  distill'd,  and  suns  grew  warm,  in  vain 
The  swain  with  tears  his  frustrate  labour  yields, 
And,  famish'd,  dies  amidst  his  ripen'd  fields. 
What  wonder  then,  a  beast  or  subject  slain 
Were  equal  crimes  in  a  despotic  reign  ? 
Both,  doom'd  alike,  for  sportive  tyrants  bled, 
But,  while  the  subject  starved,  the  beast  was  fed. 
Proud  Nimrod  first  the  bloody  chase  began, 
A  mighty  hunter,  and  his  prey  was  man. 
Our  haughty  Norman  boasts  that  barbarous  name, 
And  makes  his  trembling  slaves  the  royal  game. 
The  fields  are  ravish'd  from  the  industrious  swains, 
From  men  their  cities,  and  from  gods  their  fanes  : 
The  levell'd  towns  with  weeds  lie  cover'd  o'er ; 
The  hollow  winds  through  naked  temples  roar; 
Round  broken  columns  clasping  ivy  twined; 
O'er  heaps  of  ruins  stalk'd  the  stately  hind  ; 
The  fox  obscene  to  gaping  tombs  retires, 
And  savage  howlings  fill  the  sacred  quires      . 
Awed  by  his  nobles,  by  his  commons  curst, 
The  oppressor  ruled  tyrannic  where  he  durst, 
Stretch' d  o'er  the  poor  and  church  his  iron  rod, 
And  serv'd  alike  his  vassals  and  his  God. 
Whom  e'en  the  Saxon  spared,  and  bloody  Dane, 
The  wanton  victims  of  his  sport  remain. 
But  see,  the  man  who  spacious  regions  gave 
A  waste  fo-  beasts,  himself  denied  a  grave  : 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  SI 

Stretch'd  on  the  lawn  his  second  hope  survey, 
At  once  the  chaser,  and  at  once  the  prey  : 
Lo  Rufus,  tugging  at  the  deadly  dart, 
Bleeds  in  the  forest  like  a  wounded  hart. 
Succeeding  monarchs  heard  the  subjects'  cries, 
Nor  saw  displeased  the  peaceful  cottage  rise. 
Then  gathering  flocks  on  unknown  mountains  fed, 
O'er  sandy  wilds  where  yellow  harvests  spread, 
The  forests  wonder'd  at  the  unusual  grain, 
And  secret  transports  touch'd  the  conscious  swain 
Fair  Liberty,  Britannia's  goddess,  rears 
Her  cheerful  head,  and  leads  the  golden  years. 

Ye  vigorous  swains!  while  youth  ferments  your  blood, 
And  purer  spirits  swell  the  sprightly  flood, 
Now  range  the  hills,  the  gameful  woods  beset, 
Wind  the  shrill  horn,  or  spread  the  waving  net. 
When  milder  autumn  summer's  heat  succeeds, 
And  in  the  new-shorn  field  the  partridge  feeds  ; 
Before  his  lord  the  ready  spaniel  bounds, 
Panting  with  hope,  he  tries  the  furrow'd  grounds ; 
But  when  the  tainted  gales  the  game  betray, 
Couch'd  close  he  lies,  and  meditates  the  prey : 
Secure  they  trust  the  unfaithful  field  beset, 
Till  hovering  o'er  them  sweeps  the  swelling  net. 
Thus  (if  small  things  we  may  with  great  compare) 
When  Albion  sends  her  eager  sons  to  war, 
Some  thoughtless  town,  with  ease  and  plenty  bless'd 
Near  and  more  near,  the  closing  lines  invest ; 
Sudden  they  seize  the  amazed,  defenceless  prize, 
And  high  in  air  Britannia's  standard  flies. 

See  !  from  the  brake  the  whirring  pheasant  springs, 
And  mounts  exulting  on  triumphant  wings  : 
Short  is  his  joy,  he  feels  the  fiery  wound, 
Flutters  in  blood,  and  panting  beats  the  ground. 
Ah  !  what  avails  his  glossy,  varying  dyes, 
His  purple  crest,  and  scarlet  circled  eyes, 
The  vivid  green  his  shining  plumes  unfold 
His  painted  wings,  and  breast  that  flames  with  gold  1 


58  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Nor  yet,  when  moist  Arcturus  clouds  the  sky, 
The  woods  and  fields  their  pleasing  toils  deny. 
To  plains  with  well-breathed  beagles  we  repair, 
And  trace  the  mazes  of  the  circling  hare: 
(Beasts,  urged  by  us,  their  fellow-beasts  pursue, 
And  learn  of  man  each  other  to  undo  :) 
With  slaughtering  guns  the  unwearied  fowler  roves 
When  frosts  have  whiten'd  all  the  naked  groves  ; 
Where  doves  in  flocks  the  leafless  trees  o'ershade, 
And  lonely  woodcocks  haunt  the  watery  glade 
He  lifts  the  tube,  and  levels  with  his  eye  : 
Straight  a  short  thunder  breaks  the  frozen  sky : 
Oft,  as  in  airy  rings  they  skim  the  heath, 
The  clamorous  lapwings  feel  the  leaden  death  ; 
Oft,  as  the  mounting  larks  their  notes  prepare, 
They  fall,  and  leave  their  little  lives  in  air. 

In  genial  spring,  beneath  the  quivering  shade, 
Where  cooling  vapours  breathe  along  the  mead, 
The  patient  fisher  takes  his  silent  stand, 
Intent,  his  angle  trembling  in  his  hand  ; 
With  looks  unmoved,  he  hopes  the  scaly  breed, 
And  eyes  the  dancing  cork  and  bending  reed. 
Our  plenteous  streams  a  various  race  supply, 
The  bright-eyed  perch  with  fins  of  Tyrian  dye, 
The  silver  eel,  in  shining  volumes  roll'd, 
The  yellow  carp,  in  scales  bedropp'd  with  gold, 
Swift  trouts,  diversified  with  crimson  stains, 
And  pikes,  the  tyrants  of  the  watery  plains. 

Now  Cancer  glows  with  Phoebus'  fiery  car 
The  youth  rush  eager  to  the  sylvan  war, 
Swarm  o'er  the  lawns,  the  forest  walks  surround, 
Rouse  the  fleet  hart,  and  cheer  the  opening  hound 
The  impatient  courser  pants  in  every  vein, 
\nd,  pawing,  seems  to  beat  the  distant  plain  : 
Hills,  vales,  and  floods  appear  already  cross'd, 
And,  ere  he  starts,  a  thousand  steps  are  lost. 
See  the  bold  youth  strain  up  the  threatening  steep, 
Rush  through  the  thickets,  down  the  valleys  sweep, 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  59 

Flang  o'er  tneir  coursers'  heads  with  eager  speed, 
And  earth  rolls  back  beneath  the  flying  steed. 
Let  old  Arcadia  boast  her  ample  plain, 
The  immortal  huntress,  and  her  virgin  train, 
Nor  envy,  Windsor !  since  thy  shades  have  seen 
As  bright  a  goddess,  and  as  chaste  a  queen  ; 
Whose  care,  like  hers,  protects  the  sylvan  reign, 
The  earth's  fair  light,  and  empress  of  the  main. 

Here,  too,  'tis  sung,  of  old,  Diana  stray'd, 
And  Cynthus'  top  forsook  for  Windsor  shade 
Here  was  she  seen  o'er  airy  wastes  to  rove, 
Seek  the  clear  spring,  or  haunt  the  pathless  grove  ; 
Here,  arm'd  with  silver  bows,  in  early  dawn, 
Hci  biiskin'd  virgins  traced  the  dewy  lawn. 
Above  the  rest  a  rural  nymph  was  famed, 
Thy  offspring,  Thames  !  the  fair  Lodona  named: 
(Lodona'a  fate,  in  long  oblivion  cast, 
The  muse  shall  sing,  and  what  she  sings  shall  last.) 
Scarce  could  the  goddess  from  her  nymoh  be  known, 
But  by  the  crescent,  and  the  golden  none. 
She  scorn 'd  the  praise  of  beauty,  and  the  care ; 
A  belt  her  waist,  a  fillet  binds  her  hair; 
A  painted  quiver  on  her  shoulder  sounds, 
Arid  with  her  dart  the  flying  deer  she  wounds. 
It  chanced,  as  eager  of  the  chase,  the  maid 
Beyond  the  forest's  verdant  limits  stray'd, 
Pan  saw  and  loved,  and  burning  with  desire 
Pursued  her  flight;  her  flight  increased  his  fire. 
Not  half  so  swift  the  trembling  doves  can  fly, 
When  the  tierce  eagle  cleaves  the  liquid  sky ; 
Not  half  so  swiftly  the  fierce  eagle  moves, 
When  thro'  the  clouds  he  drives  the  trembling  dove*  , 
As  from  the  god  she  fiew  with  furious  pace, 
Or  as  the  god,  more  furious,  urged  the  chace. 
Now  fainting,  sinking,  pale,  the  nymph  appears  ; 
Now  close  behind,  his  sounding  steps  she  hears; 
And  now  his  shadow  re-.ch'd  her  as  she  run,     ' 
His  shadow  len;:tiien'(i  by  th"  ?e*ting  sun; 


60 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  now  his  shorter  breath,  with  sultry  air, 

Pants  on  her  neck,  and  fans  her  parting  hair 

In  vain  on  father  Thames  she  calls  for  aid, 

Nor  could  Diana  help  her  injured  maid. 

Faint,  breathless,  thus  she  pray'd,  norpray'd  in  vain 

'  Ah,  Cynthia !  ah — though  banish'd  from  thy  train, 

Let  me,  O  let  me,  to  the  shades  repair, 

My  native  shades  !  there  weep,  and  murmur  there  ! 

She  said,  and,  melting  as  in  tears  she  lay, 

In  a  soft  silver  stream  dissolved  away. 

The  silver  stream  her  virgin  coldness  keeps, 

For  ever  murmurs,  and  for  ever  weeps ; 

Still  bears  the  name  the  helpless  virgin  bore, 

And  bathes  the  forest  where  she  ranged  before. 

In  her  chaste  current  oft  the  goddess  laves, 

And  with  celestial  tears  augments  the  waves. 

Oft  in  her  glass  the  musing  shepherd  spies 

The  headlong  mountains  and  the  downward  skies, 

The  watery  landscape  of  the  pendant  woods, 

And  absent  trees  that  tremble  in  the  floods; 

In  the  clear  azure  gleam  the  flocks  are  seen, 

And  floating  forests  paint  the  waves  with  green  ; 

Through  the  fair  scene  roll  slow  the  lingering  streams. 

Then  foaming  pour  along,  and  rush  into  the  Thames. 

Thou,  too,  great  father  of  the  British  floods  ! 
With  joyful  pride  survey's!  our  lofty  woods ; 
Where  towering  oaks  their  growinsr  honours  rear, 
And  future  navies  on  thy  shores  appear. 
Not  Neptune's  self  from  all  her  streams  receives 
A  wealthier  tribute  than  to  thine  he  gives. 
No  seas  so  rich,  so  gay  no  banks  appear, 
No  lake  so  gentle,  and  no  spring  so  clear. 
Nor  Po  so  swells  the  fabling  poet's  lays, 
While  led  along  the  skies  his  current  strays, 
As  thine,  which  visits  Windsor's  famed  abodes, 
To  grace  the  mansion  of  our  earthly  gods , 
Nor  all  his  stars  above  a  lustre  show, 
Like  the  bright  beauties  on  thy  banks  below: 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  61 

Where  Jove,  subdued  by  mortal  passion  still, 
Might  change  Olympus  for  a  nobler  hill. 

Happy  the  man  whom  this  bright  court  approves, 
His  sovereign  favours,  and  his  country  loves : 
Happy  next  him,  who  to  these  shades  retires, 
Whom  nature  charms,  and  whom  the  muse  inspires. 
Whom  humbler  joys  of  home-felt  quiet  please, 
Successive  study,  exercise  and  ease. 
He  gathers  health  from  herbs  the  forest  yields, 
And  of  their  fragrant  physic  spoils  the  fields  ; 
With  chemic  art  exalts  the  mineral  powers, 
And  draws  the  aromatic  souls  of  flowers  : 
Now  marks  the  course  of  rolling  orbs  on  high ; 
O'er  figured  worlds  now  travels  with  his  eye  ; 
Of  ancient  writ  unlocks  the  learned  store, 
Consults  the  dead,  and  lives  past  ages  o'er : 
Or  wandering  thoughtful  in  the  silent  wood, 
Attends  the  duties  of  the  wise  and  good, 
T'  observe  a  mean,  be  to  himself  a  friend, 
To  follow  Nature,  and  regard  his  end';' 
Or  looks  on  Heaven  with  more  than  mortal  eyes, 
Bids  his  free  soul  expatiate  in  the  skies, 
Amid  her  kindred  stars  familiar  roam, 
Survey  the  region,  and  confess  her  home ! 
Such  was  the  life  great  Scipio  once  admired, 
Thus  Atticus,  and  Trumbal  thus  retired. 

Ye  sacred  Nine  !  that  all  my  soul  possess, 
Whose  raptures  fire  me,  and  whose  visions  bless, 
Bear  me,  O  bear  me  to  sequester'd  scenes, 
The  bowery  mazes,  and  surrounding  greens  ; 
To  Thames's  banks  which  fragrant,  breezes  fill 
Or  where  ye,  Muses,  sport  on  Cooper's  Hill ; 
(On  Cooper's  Hill  eternal  wreaths  shall  grow, 
While  lasts  the  mountain,  or  while  Thames  shall  flow* 
I  seem  through  consecrated  walks  to  rove, 
I  hear  soft  music  die  along  the  grove  : 
Led  by  the  sound  I  roam  from  shade  to  shade 
By  godlike  poets  venerable  made : 


62  POPPAS  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Here  his  first  lays  majestic  Denham  sung : 

There  the  last  numbers  flow'd  from  Cowley's  tongue 

O  early  lost !  what  tears  the  river  shed, 

When  the  sad  pomp  along  his  banks  was  led  ! 

His  drooping  swans  on  every  note  expire, 

And  on  his  willows  hung  each  muse's  lyre. 

Since  fate  relentless  stopp'd  their  heavenly  voice, 
No  more  the  forests  ring,  or  groves  rejoice  ; 
Who  now  shall  charm  the  shades  where  Cowley  strung 
His  living  harp,  and  lofty  Denham  sung? 
But  hark  !  the  groves  rejoice,  the  forest  rings  ! 
Are  these  revived  ?  or  is  it  Granville  sings? 
'Tis  yours,  my  lord,  to  bless  our  soft  retreats, 
And  call  the  muses  to  their  ancient  seats ; 
To  paint  anew  the  flowery  sylvan  scenes, 
To  crown  the  forest  with  immortal  greens, 
Make  Windsor  hills  in  lofty  numbers  rise, 
And  lift  her  turrets  nearer  to  the  skies; 
To  sing  those  honours  you  deserve  to  wear, 
And  add  new  lustre  to  her  silver  star. 

Here  noble  Surrey  felt  the  sacred  rage, 
Surrey,  the  Granville  of  a  former  age: 
Matchless  his  pen,  victorious  was  his  lance, 
Bold  in  the  lists,  and  graceful  in  the  dance ; 
In  the  same  shades  the  Cupids  tuned  his  lyre, 
To  the  same  notes  of  love  and  soft  desire: 
Fair  Geraldine,  bright  object  of  his  vow, 
Then  fill'd  the  groves,  as  heavenly  Mira  now. 

Oh,  wouldst  thou  sing  what  heroes  Windsor  bore^ 
What  kings  first  breathed  upon  her  winding  shore' 
Or  raise  old  warriors,  whose  adored  remains 
In  weeping  vaults  her  hallow'd  earth  contains  ! 
With  Edward's  acts  adorn  the  shining  page, 
Stretch  his  long  triumphs  down  through  every  age  ; 
Draw  monarchs  chain'd,  and  Cressi's  glorious  field. 
The  lilies  blazing  on  the  regal  shield  ! 
Then,  from  her  roofs  when  Verrio's  colours  fall, 
And  leave  inanimate  the  naked  wall. 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  63 

Still  in  thy  song  should  vanquish'd  France  appear, 
And  bleed  for  ever  under  Britain's  spear. 
Let  softer  strains  ill-fated  Henry  mourn, 
And  palms  eternal  flourish  round  his  urn : 
Here  o'er  the  martyr-king  the  marble  weeps, 
And,  fast  beside  him,  once-fear'd  Edward  sleeps 
Whom  not  the  extended  Albion  could  contain, 
From  old  Belerium  to  the  northern  main, 
The  grave  unites  ;  where  e'en  the  great  find  rest, 
And  blended  lie  the  oppressor  and  the  oppress'd  ! 

Make  sacred  Charles's  tomb  for  ever  known 
(Obscure  the  place,  and  uninscribed  the  stone:) 
Oh  fact  accursed  !  what  tears  has  Albion  shed  ? 
Heavens,what  new  wounds!  and  how  her  old  have  bled 
She  saw  her  sons  with  purple  deaths  expire, 
Her  sacred  domes  involved  in  rolling  fire, 
A  dreadful  series  of  intestine  wars, 
Inglorious  triumphs,  and  dishonest  scars. 
At  length  great  Anna  said, '  Let  discord  cease  !' 
She  said,  the  world  obey'd,  and  all  was  peace. 

In  that  blest  moment  from  his  oozy  bed 
Old  father  Thames  advanced  his  reverend  head ; 
His  tresses  dropp'd  with  dews,  and  o'er  the  stream 
His  shining  horns  diffused  a  golden  gleam  : 
Sravcd  on  his  urn  appear'd  the  moon,  that  guides 
His  swelling  waters  and  alternate  tides  ; 
The  figured  streams  in  waves  of  silver  roll'd, 
And  on  their  banks  Augusta  rose  in  gold : 

Around  his  throne  the  sea-born  brothers  stood, 

Who  swell  with  tributary  urns  his  flood. 

First  the  famed  authors  of  his  ancient  name, 

The  winding  Isis,  and  the  fruitful  Thame  : 

The  Kennet  swift,  for  silver  eels  renown'd  ; 

The  Loddon  slow,  with  verdant  alders  crown'd : 

Cole,  whose  dark  streams  his  flowery  islands  lave  ; 

And  chalky  Wey,  that  rolls  a  milky  wave  : 

The  blue,  transparent  Vandalis  appears ; 

The  gulfy  Lee  his  sedgy  tresses  rears ; 


64  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

And  sullen  Mole,  that  hides  his  diving  flood  ; 
And  silent  Darent  stain'd  with  Danish  blood. 

High  in  the  midst,  upon  his  urn  reclined, 
(His  sea-green  mantle  waving  with  the  wind,) 
The  god  appear'd :  he  turn'd  his  azure  eyes 
Where  Windsor-domes  and  pompous  turrets  rise  , 
Then  bow'd,  and  spoke  ;  the  winds  forget  to  roar, 
And  the  hush'd  waves  glide  softly  to  the  shore  : 

'  Hail,  sacred  peace  !  hail,  long  expected  days, 
That  Thames's  glory  to  the  stars  shall  raise ; 
Though  Tiber's  streams  immortal  Rome  behold, 
Though  foaming  Hermus  swells  with  tides  of  gold, 
From  heaven  itself  though  sevenfold  Nilus  flows, 
And  harvests  on  a  hundred  realms  bestows; 
These  now  no  more  shall  be  the  muses'  themes, 
Lost  in  my  fame,  as  in  the  sea  their  streams. 
Let  Volga's  banks  with  iron  squadrons  shine, 
And  groves  of  lances  glitter  on  the  Rhine ; 
Let  barbarous  Ganges  arm  a  servile  train, 
Be  mine  the  blessings  of  a  peaceful  reign 
No  more  my  sons  shall  dye  with  British  blood 
Red  Iber's  sands,  or  Ister's  foaming  flood  : 
Safe  on  my  shore  each  unmolested  swain 
Shall  tend  the  flocks,  or  reap  the  bearded  grain : 
The  shady  empire  shall  retain  no  trace 
Of  war  or  blood,  but  in  the  sylvan  chace  : 
The  trumpet  sleep,  while  cheerful  horns  are  blown 
And  arms  employ'd  on  birds  and  beasts  alone. 
Behold  !  the  ascending  villas  on  my  side, 
Project  long  shadows  o'er  the  crystal  tide. 
Behold  !  Augusta's  glittering  spires  increase, 
And  temples  rise,  the  beauteous  works  of  peace. 
I  see,  I  see,  where  two  fair  cities  bend 
Their  ample  bow,  a  new  Whitehall  ascend  ! 
There  mighty  nations  shall  inquire  their  doom, 
The  world's  great  oracle  in  times  to  come  ; 
There  kings  shall  sue,  and  suppliant  states  be  seen 
Once  more  to  bend  before  a  British  queen. 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  65 

'Thy  trees,  fair  Windsor!   now   shall  leave  their 

woods, 

And  half  thy  forests  rush  into  the  floods  ; 
Bear  Britain's  thunder,  and  her  cross  display, 
To  the  bright  regions  of  the  rising  day  ; 
Tempt  icy  seas,  where  scarce  the  waters  roll, 
Where  clearer  flames  glow  round  the  frozen  pole  ; 
Or  under  southern  skies  exalt  theii  sails, 
Led  by  new  stars,  and  borne  by  spicy  gales  ! 
For  me  the  balm  shall  bleed,  and  amber  flow, 
The  coral  redden,  and  the  ruby  glow, 
The  pearly  shell  its  lucid  globe  unfold, 
And  Phffibus  warm  the  ripening  ore  to  gold. 
The  time  shall  come,  when  free  as  seas  or  wind, 
Unbounded  Thames  shall  flow  for  all  mankind, 
Whole  nations  enter  with  each  swelling  tide, 
And  seas  but  join  the  regions  they  divide  ; 
Earth's  distant  ends  our  glory  shall  behold, 
And  the  new  world  launch  forth  to  seek  the  old. 
Then  ships  of  uncouth  form  shall  stem  the  tide, 
And  feather'd  people  crowd  my  wealthy  side, 
And  naked  youths  and  painted  chiefs  admire 
Our  speech,  our  colour,  and  our  strange  attire  ! 
Oh,   stretch  thy  reign,   fair  peace !  from  shore  to 

shore, 

Till  conquest  cease,  and  slavery  be  no  more  ; 
Till  the  freed  Indians  in  their  native  groves 
Reap  their  own  fruits,  and  woo  their  sable  loves ; 
Peru  once  more  a  race  of  kings  behold, 
And  other  Mexicos  be  roof'd  with  gold. 
Exiled  by  thee  from  earth  to  deepest  hell, 
In  brazen  bonds  shall  barbarous  discord  dwell : 
Gigantic  pride,  pale  terror,  gloomy  care, 
And  mad  ambition  shall  attend  her  there  : 
There  purple  vengeance  bathed  in  gore  retires, 
Her  weapons  blunted,  and  extinct  her  fires: 
There  hateful  envy  her  own  snakes  shall  feel, 
And  persecution  mourn  her  broken  wheel : 
5 


66  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

There  faction  roar,  rebellion  bite  her  chain, 
And     asping  furies  thirst  for  blood  in  vain.' 

Here  cease  thy  flight,  nor  with  unhallow'd  lays 
Touch  the  fair  fame  of  Albion's  golden  days  ; 
The  thoughts  of  gods  let  Granville's  verse  recite, 
And  bring  the  scenes  of  opening  fate  to  light ; 
My  humble  muse,  in  unambitious  strains, 
Paints  the  green  forests  and  the  flowery  plains, 
Where  peace  descending,  bids  her  olive  spring, 
And  scatters  blessings  from  her  dove-like  wing. 
E'en  I  more  sweetly  pass  my  careless  days, 
Pleased  in  the  silent  shade  with  empty  praise 
Enough  for  me,  that  to  the  listening  swains 
First  in  these  fields  I  sang  the  sylvan  strains 


ODE 
ON  ST.  CECILIA'S  DAY 

MDCCVIII. 

And  other  Pieces  for  Music. 
DESCEND,  ye  Nine :  descend  and  sing: 

The  breathing  instruments  inspire  ; 
Wake  into  voice  each  silent  string, 
And  sweep  the  sounding  lyre  ! 
In  a  sadly-pleasing  strain 
Let  the  warbling  lute  complain 
Let  the  loud  trumpet  sound, 
Till  the  roofs  all  around 
Tho  shrill  echoes  rebound  : 
While,  in  more  lengthen'd  notes  and  slow 
The  deep,  majestic,  solemn  organs  blow. 
Hark  !  the  numbers  soft  and  clear 
Gently  steal  upon  the  ear  ; 
Now  louder,  and  yet  louder  rise, 
And  fill  with  spreading  sounds  the  skies  ; 
Exulting  in  triumph  now  swell  the  bold  notes 
In  broken  air  trembling,  the  wild  music  floats, 


ODES,  &c.  67 

Till,  by  degrees,  remote  and  small, 
The  strains  decay, 
And  melt  away, 
In  a  dying,  dying  fall. 
By  music,  minds  an  equal  temper  know, 
Nor  swell  too  high,  nor  sink  too  low. 
If  in  the  breast  tumultuous  joys  arise, 
Music  her  soft,  assuasivc  voice  applies  ; 
Or,  when  the  soul  is  press'd  with  cares, 
Exalts  her  in  enlivening  \irs. 
Warriors  she  fires  with  animated  sounds  ; 
Pours  balm  into  the  bleeding  lover's  wounds  ; 
Melancholy  lifts  her  head, 
Morpheus  rouses  from  his  bed, 
Sloth  unfolds  her  arms  and  wakes, 
Listening  envy  drops  her  snakes  ; 
Intestine  war  no  more  our  passions  wage, 
And  giddy  factions  bear  away  their  rage. 

But  when  our  country's  cause  provokes  to  arms, 
How  martial  music  every  bosom  warms ! 
So  when  the  first  bold  vessel  dared  the  seas, 
High  on  the  stern  the  Thracian  raised  his  strain, 

While  Argo  saw  her  kindred  trees 

Descend  from  Pelion  to  the  main. 

Transported  demi-gods  stood  round, 

And  men  grew  heroes  at  the  sound, 

Inflamed  with  glory's  charms  : 

Each  chief  his  sevenfold  shield  display'd, 

And  half  unsheathed  the  shining  blade  : 

A.nd  seas,  and  rocks,  and  skies  rebound 

To  arms,  to  arms,  to  arms  ! 

But  when  through  all  the  infernal  bounds, 
Which  flaming  Phlegethon  surrounds, 
Love,  strong  as  death,  the  poet  led 
To  the  pale  nations  of  the  dead, 
What  sounds  were  heard, 
What  scenes  appear'd. 


68  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

O'er  all  the  dreary  coasts ! 
Dreadful  gleams, 
Dismal  screams, 
Fires  that  glow, 
Shrieks  of^woe, 
Sullen  moans, 
Hollow  groans, 
And  cries  of  tortured  ghosts  : 
But,  hark !  he  strikes  the  golden  lyre  : 
And  see  !  the  tortured  ghosts  respire. 

See,  shady  forms  advance  ! 
,Thy  stone,  O  Sisyphus,  stands  still, 
Ixion  rests  upon  his  wheel, 
And  the  pale  spectres  dance  ! 
The  Furies  sink  upon  their  iron  beds, 
And  snakes  uncurl'd  hang  listening  round  their  headi 
By  the  streams  that  ever  flow, 
By  the  fragrant  winds  that  blow 

O'er  the  Elysian  flowers; 
By  those  happy  souls,  who  dwell 
In  yellow  meads  of  asphodel, 

Or  amaranthine  bowers  ! 
By  the  hero's  armed  shades, 
Glittering  through  the  gloomy  glades ; 
By  the  youths  that  died  for  love, 
Wandering  in  the  myrtle  grove, 
Restore,  restore  Eurydice  to  life  : 
Oh  take  the  husband,  or  return  the  wife  ! 
He  sung,  and  hell  consented 
To  hoar  the  poet's  prayer, 
Stern  Proserpine  relented, 
And  gave  him  back  the  fair. 
Thus  song  could  prevail 
O'er  death  and  o'er  hell  ; 
A  conquest  how  hard  and  how  glorious ! 
Though  fate  had  fast  bound  her 
With  Styx  nine  times  round  her, 
Vet  musio  and  love  were  victorious. 


ODES,  &c.  69 

But  soon,  too  soon  the  lover  turns  his  eyes  . 
Again  she  falls,  again  she  dies,  she  dies  ! 
How  wilt  thou  now  the  fatal  sisters  move  ? 
No  crime  was  thine,  if 'tis  no  crime  to  love. 
Now  under  hanging  mountains, 
Beside  the  falls  of  fountains, 
Or  where  Hebrus  wanders, 
Rolling  in  meanders, 

All  alone, 
Unheard,  unknown, 
He  makes  his  moan, 
And  calls  her  ghost, 
For  ever,  ever,  ever,  lost ! 
Now  with  furies  surrounded, 
Despairing,  confounded, 
He  trembles,  he  glows, 
Amidst  Rhodope's  snows : 
See,  wild  as  the  winds,  o'er  the  desert  he  flies  ; 
Hark  !  Ifemus  resounds  with  the  Bacchanals'  en 

Ah  see,  he  dies ! 

Yet  e'en  in  death  Eurydice  he  sung  : 
Eurydice  still  trembled  on  his  tongue: 
Eurydice  the  woods, 
Eurydice  the  floods, 
Eurydice  the  rocks  and  hollow  mountains  rung. 

Music  the  fiercest  grief  can  charm, 
And  Fate's  severest  rage  disarm  ; 
Music  can  soften  pain  to  ease, 
And  make  despair  and  madness  please: 
Our  joys  below  it  can  improve, 
And  antedate  the  bliss  above. 
This  the  divine  Cecilia  found, 
And  to  her  Maker's  praise  confined  the  sound, 
When  the  full  organ  joins  the  tuneful  quire, 

The  immortal  powers  incline  their  ear  : 
Borne  on  the  swelling  notes  our  souls  aspire, 
While  solemn  airs  improve  the  sacred  fire ; 
And  angels  lean  from  heaven  to  hear. 


70  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Of  Orpheus  now  no  more  let  poets  tell ; 
To  bright  Cecilia  greater  power  is  given  : 
His  numbers  raised  a  shade  from  hell, 
Hers  lift  the  soul  to  heaven. 


TWO  CHORUSSES 
TO  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  BRUTUS, 

Altered  from  Shakspeare  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham! 
at  whose  desire  these  two  CJwrnsses  were  composed, 
to  supply  as  many  wanting  in  his  Play.  They  were 
set  many  years  afterwards  by  the  famous  Bononcini, 
und  performed  at  Buckingham-house. 


CHORUS  OF  ATHENIANS. 
Strophe  1. 

YE  shades,  where  sucred  truth  is  sought ; 

Groves,  where  immortal  sages  taught; 

Where  heavenly  visions  Plato  fired, 

And  Epicurus  lay  inspired ! 

In  vain  your  guiltless  laurels  stood 

Unspotted  long  with  human  blood. 
War,  horrid  war,  your  thoughtful  walks  invades, 
And  steel  now  glitters  in  the  muses'  shades. 
Antistrophe  1. 

Oh  heaven-born  sisters  !  source  of  art  ! 

Who  charm  the  sense,  or  mend  the  heart ; 

Who  lead  fair  virtue's  train  along, 

Moral  truth  and  mystic  song  ! 

To  what  new  clime,  what  distant  sky, 

Forsaken,  friendless,  shall  ye  fly? 
Say,  will  ye  bless  the  bleak  Atlantic  shore  ? 
Or  bid  the  furious  Gaul  be  rude  no  more  ? 
Strophe  2. 

When  Athens  sinks  by  fates  unjust, 

When  wild  barbarians  spurn  her  dust ! 


ODES,  &c.  71 

Perhaps  e'en  Britain's  utmost  shore 

Shall  cease  to  blush  with  stranger's  gorft 

See  arts  her  savage  sons  controul, 

And  Athens  rising  near  the  pole  ! 
Till  some  new  tyrant  lifts  his  purple  hand, 
And  civil  madness  tears  them  from  the  land. 
Antistrophe  2. 

Ye  gods !  what  justice  rules  the  ball? 

Freedom  and  arts  together  fall ; 

Fools  grant  whate'er  ambition  craves, 

And  men  once  ignorant  are  slaves. 

O  cursed  effects  of  civil  hate, 

In  every  age,  in  every  state ! 
Still,  when  the  lust  of  tyrant  power  succeeds, 
Some  Athens  perishes,  some  Tully  bleeds. 


CHORUS  OF  YOUTHS  AND  VIRGINS 

Semwhorus, 

OH  tyrant  Love !  hast  thou  possess'd 
The  prudent,  leara'd,  and  virtuous  breast  7 
Wisdom  and  wit  in  vain  reclaim, 
And  arts  but  soften  us  to  feel  thy  flame. 
Love,  soft  intruder,  enters  here, 
But  entering  learns  to  be  sincere. 
Marcus,  with  blushes  owns  he  loves, 
And  Brutus  tenderly  reproves. 
Why,  virtue,  dost  thou  blame  desire, 

Which  nature  hath  impress'd? 

Why,  nature,  dost  thou  soonest  fire 

The  mild  and  generous  breast  ? 

Chorus. 

Love's  purer  flames  the  gods  approve ; 
The  gods  and  Brutus  bend  to  love  : 
Brutus  for  absent  Porcia  sighs, 
And  sterner  Cassius  melts  at  Junia's  eye* 
What  is  loose  love  ?  a  transient  gust, 
Spent  in  a  sudden  storm  of  lust ; 


72  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

A  vapour  fed  from  wild  desire  ; 
A  wandering,  self-consuming  fire. 
But  Hymen's  kinder  Harries  unite, 

And  burn  for  ever  one ; 
Chaste  as  cold  Cynthia's  virgin  light, 
Productive  as  the  suu. 

Semichorus. 

Oh  source  of  every  social  tie, 
United  wish,  and  mutual  joy  ! 
What  various  joys  on  one  attend, 
As  son,  as  father,  brother,  husband,  friend. 
Whether  his  hoary  sire  he  spies, 
While  thousand  grateful  thoughts  arise  ; 
Or  meets  his  spouse's  fonder  eye  ; 
Or  views  his  smiling  progeny  ; 
What  tender  passions  take  their  turns, 

What  home-felt  raptures  move  ! 
His  heart  now  melts,  now  leaps,  now  burns, 
With  reverence,  hope,  and  love. 

Chorus. 

Hence,  guilty  joys,  distastes,  surmises; 
Hence,  false  tears,  deceits,  disguises, 
Dangers,  doubts,  delays,  surprises, 

Fires  that  scorch,  yet  dare  not  shine : 
Purest  Love's  unwasting  treasure, 
Constant  faith,  fair  hope,  long  leisure  ; 
Daj    «f  ease,  and  nights  of  pleasure, 
Sacred  Hymen !  these  are  thine. 


ODE  ON  SOLITUDE. 

Written  when  the  Autiior  was  about  twelve  Year*  out 
HAPPY  the  man  whose  wish  and  care 

A  few  paternal  acres  bound, 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air 

In  his  own  groun 


ODES,  &c.  73 

Whose  herds  with  milk,  whose  fields  with  bread. 

Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire ; 
Whose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade, 

In  winter  fire. 
Bless'd,  who  can  unconcernedly  find 

Hours,  days,  and  years,  slide  soft  away, 
In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mind, 

Quiet  by  day. 

Sound  sleep  by  night :  study  and  ease, 
^Together  mix'd  ;  sweet  recreation, 
And  innocence,  which  most  does  please 
With  meditation. 
Thus  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown ; 

Thus  unlamented,  let  me  die, 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  stone 

Tell  where  I  lie. 


ODE. 

The  dying  Christian  to  his  Soul. 
VITAL  spark  of  heavenly  flame  ! 
Quit,  oh  quit  this  mortal  frame : 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying— 
Oh  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying  ! 
Cease,  fond  Nature,  cease  thy  strife. 
And  let  me  languish  into  life. 

Hark !  they  whisper  :  angels  say, 

Sister  spirit,  come  away. 

What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite, 

Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  7 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes ;  it  disappears ! 
Eeaven  opens  on  my  eyes  !  my  ears 
With  sounds  seraphic  ring : 


74  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Lend,  lend  your  wings  !  I  mount !  I  fly  . 
Oh  grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 
Oh  death !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

Written  in  the  Year  1709. 


PART  I.  4 

Introduction  That  it  is  as  great  a  fault  to  judge  ill,  as 
to  write  ill,  and  a  more  dangerous  one  to  the  public, 
ver.  1.  That  a  true  taste  is  as  rare  to  be  found  as  a 
true  genius,  ver.  9  to  18.  That  most  men  are  born 
with  some  taste,  but  spoiled  by  false  education,  ver. 
19  to  25.  The  multitude  of  critics,  and  causes  of  them, 
ver.  26  to  45.  That  we  are  to  study  our  own  taste, 
and  know  the  limits  of  it,  ver.  40  to  C7.  Nature  the 
best  guide  of  judgment,  ver.  68  to  87.  Improved  by 
art  and  rules,  which  are  but  methodized  nature,  ver. 
88.  Rules  derived  from  the  practice  of  ancient  poets, 
ver.  88  to  110.  That  therefore  the  ancients  are  neces 
sary  to  be  studied  by  a  critic,  particularly  Homer  and 
Virgil,  ver.  120  to  138.  Of  licenses,  and  the  use  of 
them  by  the  ancients,  ver.  140  to  180.  Reverence  due 
to  the  ancients,  and  praise  of  them,  ver.  181,  &c. 

'Tis  hard  to  say,  if  greater  want  of  skill 
Appear  in  writing,  or  in  judging  ill ; 
But  of  the  two,  less  dangerous  is  the  offence 
To  tire  our  patience,  than  mislead  our  sense. 
Some  few  in  that,  but  numbers  err  in  this ; 
Ten  censure  wrong  for  one  who  writes  amiss 
A  fool  might  once  himself  alone  expose  ; 
Now  one  in  verse  makes  many  more  in  prose. 

'Tis  with  our  judgments  as  our  watches ;  none 
Go  just  alike,  yet  each  believes  his  own.  10 

In  poets  as  true  genius  is  but  rare., 
True  taste  0.3  seldom  is  the  critic's  share  •  - 


AN  ESSAY  0!N  CivITICISM.  75 

Both  must  alike  from  Heaven  derive  their  light, 
These  born  to  judge,  as  well  as  those  to  write. 
Let  such  teach  others  who  themselves  excel, 
And  censure  freely,  who  have  written  well  : 
Authors  are  partial  to  their  wit,  'tis  true ; 
But  are  not  critics  to  their  judgment  too  ? 

Yet,  if  we  look  more  closely,  we  shall  find 
Most  have  the  seeds  of  judgment  in  their  mind  :       20 
Nature  affords  at  least  a  glimmering  light ; 
The  lines,  though    touch'd  but   faintly,   are   drawn 

right. 

But  as  the  slightest  sketch,  if  justly  traced, 
Is  by  ill-colouring  but  the  more  disgraced, 
So  by  false  learning  is  good  sense  defaced : 
Some  are  bewilder'd  in  the  maze  of  schools, 
And  some  made  coxcombs  nature  meant  but  fools: 
In  search  of  wit  these  lose  their  common  sense, 
And  then  turn  critics  in  their  own  defence  : 
Each  burns  alike,  who  can,  or  cannot  write,  30 

Or  with  a  rial's  or  an  eunuch's  spite. 
All  fools  have  still  an  itching  to  deride, 
And  fain  would  be  upon  the  laughing  side 
If  Maevius  scribble  in  Apollo's  spite, 
There  are  who  judge  still  worse  than  he  can  write. 

Some  have  at  first  for  wits,  then  poets  pass'd ; 
Turn'd  critics  next,  and  proved  plain  fools  at  last. 
Some  neither  can  for  wits  nor  critics  pass, 
As  heavy  mules  are  neither  horse  nor 'ass. 
Those  half-learn' d  witlings,  numerous  in  our  isle,   40 
As  half-form'd  insects  on  the  banks  of  Nile ; 
Unfinished  things,  one  knows  not  what  to  call, 
Their  generation's  so  equivocal : 
To  tell  them  would  a  hundred  tongues  require, 
Or  one  vain  wit's,  that  might  a  hundred  tire. 

But  you,  who  seek  to  give  and  merit  fame, 
And  justly  bear  a  critic's  noble  name, 
Be  sure  yourself  and  your  own  reach  to  know, 
How  far  you/  genius,  taste,  and  learning,  go  ; 


76  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Launch  not  beyond  your  depth,  but  be  discreet,      50 
And  mark  that  point  where  sense  and  dulness  meet 

Nature  to  all  things  fix'd  the  limits  fit, 
And  wisely  curb'd  proud  man's  pretending  wit : 
As  on  the  land  while  here  the  ocean  gains, 
In  other  parts  it  leaves  wide  sandy  plains ; 
Thus  in  the  soul  while  memory  prevails, 
The  solid  power  of  understanding  fails  ; 
Where  beams  of  warm  imagination  play, 
The  memory's  soft  figures  melt  away. 
One  science  only  will  one  genius  fit ;  60 

So  vast  is  art,  so  narrow  human  wit : 
Not  only  bounded  to  peculiar  arts, 
But  oft  in  those  confined  to  single  parts. 
Like  kings,  we  lose  the  conquests  gain'd  before, 
By  vain  ambition  still  to  make  them  more : 
Each  might  his  several  province  well  command, 
Would  all  but  stoop  to  what  they  understand. 

First  follow  nature,  and  your  judgment  frame 
By  her  just  standard,  which  is  still  the  same : 
Unerring  nature,  still  divinely  bright,  70 

One  clear,  unchanged,  and  universal  light, 
Life,  force,  and  beauty,  must  to  all  impart, 
At  once  the  source,  and  end,  and  test  of  art ; 
Art  from  that  fund  each  just  supply  provides  ; 
Works  without  show,  and  without  pomp  presides  : 
In  some  fair  body  thus  the  informing  soul 
With  spirits  feeds,  with  vigour  fills  the  whole, 
Each  motion  guides,  and  every  nerve  sustains ; 
Itself  unseen,  but  in  the  effects  remains. 
Some,  to  whom  Heaven  in  wit  has  been  profuse,    80 
Want  as  much  more,  to  turn  it  to  its  use ; 
For  wit  and  judgment  often  are  at  strife, 
Though  meant  each  other's  aid,  like  man  and  wife. 
'Tis  more  to  guide,  than  spur  the  muse's  steed ; 
Restrain  his  fury,  than  provoke  his  speed : 
The  winged  courser,  like  a  generous  horse, 
Shows  most  true  mettle  when  you  check  hia  course 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  77 

Those  rules  of  old  discover'd,  not  devised, 
Are  nature  still,  but  nature  methodized  : 
Nature,  like  liberty,  is  but  restrain'd  90 

By  the  same  laws  which  first  herself  ordain'd. 

Hear  how  learn'd  Greece  her  useful  rules  indites, 
When  to  repress,  and  when  indulge  our  flights  : 
High  on  Parnassus'  top  her  sons  she  show'd, 
And  pointed  out  those  arduous  paths  they  trod ; 
Held  from  afar,  aloft,  the  immortal  prize, 
And  urged  the  rest  by  equal  steps  to  rise. 
Just  precepts  thus  from  great  examples  given, 
She  drew  from  them  what  they  derived  from  Hea 
ven. 

The  generous  critic  fann'd  the  poet's  fire,  100 

And  taught  the  world  with  reason  to  admire. 
Then  criticism  the  muse's  handmaid  proved, 
To  dress  her  charms,  and  make  her  more  beloved  : 
But  following  wits  from  that  intention  stray'd  ; 
Who  could  not  win  the  mistress,  woo'd  the  maid  ; 
Against  the  poets  their  own  arms  they  turn'd, 
Sure  to  hate  most  the  men  from  whom  they  learn'd. 
So  modern  'pothecaries,  taught  the  art 
By  doctor's  bills  to  play  the  doctor's  part, 
Bold  in  the  practice  of  mistaken  rules,  110 

Prescribe,  apply,  and  call  their  masters  fools. 
Some  on  the  leaves  of  ancient  authors  prey, 
Nor  time  nor  moths  e'er  spoil'd  so  much  as  they  : 
Some  drily  plain,  without  invention's  aid, 
Write  dull  receipts  how  poems  may  be  made. 
These  leave  the  sense,  their  learning  to  display, 
And  those  explain  the  meaning  quite  away. 

You  then,  whose  judgment  the  right  course  would 

steer, 

Know  well  each  ancient's  proper  character  : 
His  fable,  subject,  scope  in  every  page  :  120 

Religion,  country,  genius  of  his  age  : 
Without  all  these  at  once  before  your  eyes, 
Cavil  you  may,  but  never  criticise. 


78  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Be  Homer's  works  your  study  and  delight, 
Read  them  by  day,  and  meditate  by  night : 
Thence  form  your  judgment,  thence  your  maxim* 

bring, 

And  trace  the  muses  upward  to  their  spring. 
Still  with  itself  compared,  his  text  peruse ; 
And  let  your  comment  be  the  Mantuan  Muse. 

When  first  young  Maro,  in  his  boundless  mind  13( 
A  work  t'  outlast  immortal  Rome  design'd, 
Perhaps  he  seem'd  above  the  critic's  law, 
And  but  from  nature's  fountains  scorn' d  to  draw  : 
But  when  to  examine  every  part  he  came, 
Nature  and  Homer  were,  he  found,  the  same. 
Convinced,  amazed,  he  checks  the  bold  design, 
And  rules  as  strict  his  labour'd  work  confine, 
As  if  the  Stagyrite  o'erlooked  each  line. 
Learn  hence  for  ancient  rules  a  just  esteem, 
To  copy  nature,  is  to  copy  them.  140 

Some  beauties  yet  no  precepts  can  declare, 
For  there's  a  happiness  as  well  as  care. 
Music  resembles  poetry  ;  in  each 
Are  nameless  graces  which  no  methods  teach, 
And  which  a  master-hand  alone  can  reach. 
If,  where  the  rules  not  far  enough  extend 
(Since  rules  were  made  but  to  promote  their  end,) 
Some  lucky  license  answer  to  the  full 
The  intent  proposed,  that  license  is  a  rule. 
Thus  Pegasus,  a  nearer  way  to  take,  150 

May  boldly  deviate  from  the  common  track ; 
From  vulgar  bounds  with  brave  disorder  part, 
And  snatch  a  grace  beyond  the  reach  of  art, 
Which,  without  passing  throOgh  the  judgment,  gams 
The  heart,  and  all  its  ends  at  once  attains. 
In  prospects  thus,  some  objects  please  our  eyes, 
Which  out  of  nature's  common  order  rise, 
The  shapeless  rock,  or  hanging  precipice. 
Great  wits  sometimes  may  gloriously  offend, 
And  rise  to  faults  true  critics  dare  not  mend.          160 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  79 

But  though  the  ancients  thus  their  rules  invade 

;As  kings  dispense  with  laws  themselves  have  made, 

Moderns,  beware !  or,  if  you  must  offend 

Against  the  precept,  ne'er  transgress  its  end : 

Let  it  be  seldom,  and  compell'd  by  need  ; 

And  have,  at  least,  their  precedent  to  plead. 

The  critic  else  proceeds  without  remorse, 

Seizes  your  fame,  and  puts  his  laws  in  force. 

I  know  there  are,  to  whose  presumptuous  thoughts 
Those  freer  beauties,  e'en  in  them,  seem  faults.      170 
Some  figures  monstrous  and  mis-shaped  appear, 
Consider'd  singly,  or  beheld  too  near, 
Which,  but  proportion'd  to  their  light  or  place, 
Due  distance  reconciles  to  form  and  grace. 
A  prudent  chief  not  always  must  display 
His  powers  in  equal  ranks,  and  fair  array, 
But  with  the  occasion,  and  the  place  comply, 
Conceal  his  force,  nay  seem  sometimes  to  fly. 
Those  oft  are  stratagems  which  errors  seem, 
Nor  is  it  Homer  nods,  but  we  that  dream.  ]30 

Still  green  with  bays  each  ancient  altar  stands, 
Above  the  reach  of  sacrilegious  hands  ; 
Secure  from  flames,  from  envy's  fiercer  rage, 
Destructive  war,  and  all-involving  age. 
See  from  each  clime  the  learn'd  their  incense  bring  ! 
Hear,  in  all  tongues  consenting  Pecans  ring  ! 
In  praise  so  just  let  every  voice  be  join'd, 
And  fill  the  general  chorus  of  mankind. 
Hail!  bards  triumphant !  born  in  happier  days  ; 
Immortal  heirs  of  universal  praise !  190 

Whose  honours  with  increase  of  ages  grow, 
As  streams  roll  down,  enlarging  as  they  flow  ; 
Nations  unborn  your  mighty  names  shall  sound, 
And  worlds  applaud  that  must  not  yet  be  found  ! 
O  may  some  spark  of  your  celestial  fire, 
The  last,  the  meanest  of  your  sons  inspire, 
(That,  on  weak  wings,  from  far  pursues  your  flights 
Allows  while  he  reads,  but  trembles  as  he  writes,! 


80  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

To  teach  vain  wits  a  science  little  known, 
-To  admire  superior  sense,  and  doubt  their  own  !   200 


PART  II. 

Causes  hindering  a  true  judgment.  J.  Pride,  ver.  201. 
2.  Imperfect  learning,  ver.  215.  3.  Judging  by  parts, 
and  not  by  the  whole,  ver.  233  to  288.  Critics  in  wit, 
language,  versification,  only,  288,  305,  339,  &c.  4. 
Being  too  hard  to  please,  or  too  apt  to  admire,  ver.  384. 
5.  Partiality— too  much  love  to  a  sect— to  the  ancients 
or  moderns,  ver.  394.  C.  Prejudice  or  prevention,  ver. 
408.  7.  Singularity,  ver.  424.  8.  Inconstancy  ver 
430.  9.  Party  spirit,  ver.  452,  &c.  10.  Envy,  ver.  466 
Against  envy,  and  in  praise  of  good-nature,  ver.  508, 
&c.  When  severity  is  chiefly  to  be  used  by  the  critics, 
ver.  526,  &c. 

OF  all  the  causes  which  conspire  to  blind 

Man's  erringjudgment,  and  misguide  the  mind, 

What  the  weak  head  with  strongest  bias  rules, 

Is  pride  ;  the  never-failing  vice  of  fools. 

Whatever  nature  has  in  worth  denied, 

She  gives  in  large  recruits  of  needful  pride  ! 

For  as  in  bodies,  thus  in  souls,  we  find 

What  wants  in  blood  and  spirits,  swell'd  with  wind : 

Pride,  where  wit  fails,  steps  in  to  our  defence, 

And  fills  up  all  the  mighty  void  of  sense.  210 

If  once  right  reason  drives  that  cloud  away, 

Truth  breaks  upon  us  with  resistless  day. 

Trust  not  yourself;  but,  your  defects  to  know 

Make  use  of  every  friend — and  every  foe. 

A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing  ! 

Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring ; 

There  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain, 

And  drinking  largely  sobers  us  again. 

Fired  at  first  sight  with  what  the  muse  imparts, 

In  fearless  youth  we  tempt  the  height  of  arts,       22C 

While  from  the  bounded  level  of  our  mind, 

Short  views  we  take,  nor  see  the  lengths  behind  ; 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  81 

But  more  advanced,  behold  with  strange  surprise 

New  distant  scenes  of  endless  science  rise  ! 

So,  pleased  at  first,  the  towering  Alps  we  try, 

Mount  o'er  the  vales,  and  seem  to  tread  the  sky  ! 

The  eternal  snows  appear  already  pass'd, 

And  the  first  clouds  and  mountains  seem  the  last : 

But,  those  attain'd,  we  tremble  to  survey 

The  growing  labours  of  the  lengthen'd  way  :        23t 

The  increasing  prospect  tires  our  wandering  eyes, 

Hills  peep  o'er  hills,  and  Alps  on  Alps  arise ! 

A  perfect  judge  will  read  each  work  of  wit 
With  the  same  spirit  that  its  author  writ : 
Survey  the  whole,  nor  seek  slight  faults  to  find 
Where  nature  moves,  and  rapture  warms  the  mind . 
Nor  lose,  for  that  malignant  dull  delight, 
The  generous  pleasure  to  be  charm'd  with  wit. 
But,  in  such  lays  as  neither  ebb  nor  flow, 
Correctly  cold,  and  regularly  low,  240 

That,  shunning  faults,  one  quiet  tenor  keep ; 
We  cannot  blame  indeed — but  we  may  sleep. 
In  wit,  as  nature,  what  affects  our  hearts 
Is  not  the  exactness  of  peculiar  parts ; 
'Tis  not  a  lip,  or  eye,  we  beauty  call, 
But  the  joint  force  and  full  result  of  all. 
Thus  when  we  view  some  well-proportion'd  dome. 
(The  world's  just  wonder,  and  e'en  thine,  oh  Rome  \ 
No  single  parts  unequally  surprise  ; 
All  comes*united  to  the  admiring  eyes  :  250 

No  monstrous  height,  or  breadth,  or  length  appear : 
The  whole  at  once  is  bold,  and  regular. 

Whoever  thinks  a  faultless  piece  to  see, 
Thinks  what  ne'er  was,  nor  is,  nor  e'er  shall  be. 
In  every  work  regard  the  writer's  end, 
Since  none  can  compass  more  than  they  intend ; 
And  if  the  means  be  just,  the  conduct  true, 
Applause,  in  spite  of  trivial  faults,  is  due. 
As  men  of  breeding,  sometimes  men  of  wit, 
To  avoil  great  errors,  must  the  less  commit ; 
6 


82  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Neglect  the  rule  each  verbal  critic  lays  ; 
For  not  to  know  some  trifles,  is  a  praise. 
Most  critics,  fond  of  some  subservient  art, 
Still  make  the  whole  depend  upon  a  part : 
They  talk  of  principles,  but  notions  prize, 
And  all  to  one  loved  folly  sacrifice. 

Once  on  a  time,  La  Mancha's  knight,  they  say, 
A  certain  bard  encountering  on  the  way, 
Discoursed  in  terms  as  just,  with  looks  as  sage, 
As  e'er  could  Dennis,  of  the  Grecian  stage  ;          270 
Concluding  all  were  desperate  sots  and  fools, 
Who  durst  depart  from  Aristotle's  rules. 
Our  author,  happy  in  a  judge  so  nice, 
Produced  his  play,  and  begg'd  the  knight's  advice  ; 
Made  him  observe  the  subject,  and  the  plot, 
The  manners,  passions,  unities  ;  what  not? 
All  which,  exact  to  rule,  were  brought  about, 
Were  but  a  combat  in  the  lists  left  out. 

What !  leave  the  combat  out  ?'  exclaims  the  knight. 

Yes,  or  we  must  renounce  the  Stagyrite.' —         280 
'  Not  so,  by  heaven  !  (he  answers  in  a  rage) 
'  Knights,  squires,  and  steeds,  must  enter  on  the  stage.' 
'  So  vast  a  throng  the  stage  can  ne'er  contain.' — 
'  Then  build  a  new,  or  act  it  on  a  plain.' 

Thus  critics  of  less  judgment  than  caprice, 
Curious,  not  knowing,  not  exact,  but  nice, 
Form  short  ideas  ;  and  offend  in  arts 
(As  most  in  manners)  by  a  love  to  parts. 

Some  to  conceit  alone  their  taste  confine, 
And  glittering  thoughts  struck  out  at  every  line  ;   29C 
Pleased  with  a  work  where  nothing's  just  or  fit ; 
One  glaring  chaos  and  wild  heap  of  wit. 
Poets,  like  painters,  thus  unskill'd  to  trace 
The  naked  nature  and  the  living  grace, 
With  gold  and  jewels  cover  every  part, 
And  hide  with  ornaments  their  want  of  art. 
True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dress'd, 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  exoress'd 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  83 

Something,  whose  truth  convinced  at  sight  we  find  ; 

That  gives  us  back  the  image  of  our  mind.  300 

As  shades  more  sweetly  recommend  the  light, 

So  modest  plainness  sets  off  sprightly  wit ; 

For  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does  them  good, 

As  bodies  perish  through  excess  of  blood. 

Others  for  language  all  their  care  express, 
And  value  books,  as  women  men,  for  dress : 
Their  praise  is  still, — the  style  is  excellent ; 
The  sense,  they  humbly  take  upon  content. 
Words  are  like  leaves ;  and  where  they  most  abound, 
Much  fruit  of  sense  beneath  is  rarely  found.          310 
False  eloquence,  like  the  prismatic  glass, 
Its  gaudy  colours  spreads  on  every  place ; 
The  face  of  nature  we  no  more  survey, 
All  glares  alike,  without  distinction  gay  : 
But  true  expression,  like  the  unchanging  sun, 
Clears  and  improves  whate'er  it  shines  upon : 
It  gilds  all  objects,  but  it  alters  none. 
Expression  is  the  dress  of  thought,  and  still 
Appeajp  more  decent  as  more  suitable  : 
A  vile  conceit  in  pompous  words  express'd,          320 
Is  like  a  clown  in  regal  purple  dress'd  ; 
For  different  styles  with  different  subjects  sort, 
As  several  garbs,  with  country,  town,  and  court. 
Some  by  old  words  to  fame  have  made  pretence, 
Ancients  in  phrase,  mere  moderns  in  their  sense ; 
Such  labour'd  nothings,  in  so  strange  a  style, 
Amaze  the  unlearn'd,  and  make  the  learned  smile. 
Unlucky,  as  Fungosa  in  the  play, 
These  sparks  with  awkward  vanity  display 
What  the  fine  gentleman  wore  yesterday ;  330 

And  but  so  mimic  ancient  wits  at  best, 
As  apes  ourgrandsires  in  their  doublets  dress'd. 
In  words,  as  fashions,  the  same  rule  will  hold ; 
Alike  fantastic,  if  too  new  or  old  : 
Be  not  the  first  by  whom  the  new  are  tried, 
Nor  vet  the  last  to  lav  the  old  aside. 


84  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

But  most  by  numbers  judge  a  poet's  song ; 
And  smooth  or  rough,  with  them,  is  right  or  wrong : 
In  the  bright  muse  though  thousand  charms  conspire, 
Her  voice  is  all  these  tuneful  fools  admire  ;  340 

Who  haunt  Parnassus  but  to  please  their  ear, 
Not  mend  their  minds  ;  as  some  to  church  repair, 
Not  for  the  doctrine,  but  the  music  there. 
These  equal  syllables  alone  require, 
Though  oft  the  ear  the  open  vowels  tire  ; 
While  expletives  their  feeble  aid  do  join, 
And  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dull  line : 
While  they  ring  round  the  same  unvaried  chimes, 
With  sure  returns  of  still  expected  rhymes  ; 
Where'er  you  find  '  the  cooling  western  breeze,'  350 
In  the  next  line  it  'whispers  through  the  trees  :' 
If  crystal  streams  '  with  pleasing  murmurs  creep," 
The  reader's  threatened  (not  in  vain)  with  'sleep;' 
Then  at  the  last,  and  only  couplet  fraught 
With  some  unmeaning  thing  they  call  a  thought, 
A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song, 
That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slo^%  length 
along. 

Leave  such  to  tune  their  own  dull  rhymes,  ana 

know 

What's  roundly  smooth,  or  languishingly  slow  ; 
And  praise  the  easy  vigour  of  a  line,  360 

Where  Denham's  strength  and  Waller's  sweetness 

join 

True  ease  in  writing  comes  from  art,  not  chance, 
As  those  move  easiest  who  have  leam'd  to  dance. 
'Tis  not  enough  no  harshness  gives  offence, 
The  sound  must  seem  an  echo  to  the  sense : 
Soft  is  the  strain  when  Zephyr  gently  blows, 
And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers  flows ; 
But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore, 
The  hoarse,  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar. 
When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw 
The  line  too  labours,  and  the  word?  move  slow  :  370 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  83 

Not  so,  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain, 
Flies  o'er  the  unbending  corn,  and  skims  along  the  main 
Hear  how  Timotheus'  varied  lays  surprise, 
And  bid  alternate  passions  fall  and  rise! 
While,  at  each  change,  the  son  of  Libyan  Jove 
Now  burns  with  glory,  and  then  melts  with  love: 
Now  his  fierce  eyes  with  sparkling  fury  glow, 
Now  sighs  steal  out,  and  tears  begin  to  flow  : 
Persians  and  Greeks  like  turns  of  nature  found,    380 
And  the  world's  victor  stood  subdued  by  sound  ! 
The  power  of  music  all  our  hearts  allow, 
And  what  Timotheus  was,  is  Dryden  now. 

Avoid  extremes  ;  and  shun  the  fault  of  such 
Who  still  are  pleased  too  little  or  too  much. 
At  every  trifle  scorn  to  take  offence, 
That  always  shows  great  pride,  or  little  sense  : 
Those  heads,  as  stomachs,  are  not  sure  the  best, 
Which  nauseate  all,  and  nothing  can  digest. 
Yet  let  not  each  gay  turn  thy  rapture  move  :          390 
For  fools  admire,  but  men  of  sense  approve  : 
As  things  seem  large  which  we  through  mists  descry, 
Dulness  is  ever  apt  to  magnify. 

Some  foreign  writers,  some  our  own  despise  ; 
The  ancients  only,  or  the  moderns  prize  : 
Thus  wit,  like  faith,  by  each  man  is  applied 
To  one  small  sect,  and  all  are  damn'd  beside. 
Meanly  they  seek  the  blessing  to  confine, 
And  force  that  sun  but  on  a  part  to  shine, 
Which  not  alone  the  southern  wit  sublimes,  400 

Hut  ripens  spirits  in  cold  northern  climes  ; 
Which  from  the  first  has  shone  on  ages  past, 
Enlightg  the  present,  and  shall  warm  the  last ; 
Though  each  may  feel  increases  and  decays, 
And  see  now  clearer  and  now  darker  days. 
Regard  not  then  if  wit  be  old  or  new, 
But  blarne  the  false,  and  value  still  the  true. 

Some  ne'er  advance  a  judgment  of  their  own, 
But  catch  the  spreading  notion  of  the  town; 


86  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

They  reason  and  conclude  by  precedent,  410 

And  own  stale  nonsense  which  they  ne'er  invent. 

Some  judge  of  authors'  names,  not  works,  and  then 

Nor  praise  nor  blame  the  writings,  but  the  men. 

Of  all  this  servile  herd,  the  worst  is  he 

That  in  proud  dulness  joins  with  quality ; 

A  constant  critic  at  the  great  man's  board 

To  fetch  and  carry  nonsense  for  my  lord. 

What  woeful  stuff  this  madrigal  would  be, 

In  some  starved  hackney'd  sonnetteer,  or  me ! 

But  let  a  lord  once  own  the  happy  lines,  420 

How  the  wit  brightens  !  how  the  style  refines ! 

Before  his  sacred  name  flies  every  fault, 

And  each  exalted  stanza  teems  with  thought ! 

The  vulgar  thus  through  imitation  err ; 
As  oft  the  learn'd  by  being  singular ; 
So  much  they  scorn  the  crowd,  that  if  the  throng 
By  chance  go  right  they  purposely  go  wrong : 
So  schismatics  the  plain  believers  quit, 
And  are  but  damn'd  for  having  too  much  wit. 
Some  praise  at  morning  what  they  blame  at  night, 
But  always  think  the  last  opinion  right.  431 

A  muse  by  these  is  like  a  mistress  used, 
This  hour  she's  idolized,  the  next  abused ; 
While  their  weak  heads,  like  towns  unfortified, 
'Twixt  sense  and  nonsense  daily  change  their  side. 
Ask  them  the  cause ;  they're  wiser  still  they  say ; 
And  still  to-morrow's  wiser  than  to-day. 
We  think  our  fathers  fools,  so  wise  we  grow  ; 
Our  wiser  sons,  no  doubt,  will  think  us  so. 
Once  school-divines  this  zealous  isle  o'erspread ;  440 
Who  knew  most  sentences  was  deepest  read : 
Faith,  Gospel,  all,  seem'd  made  to  be  disputed, 
And  none  had  sense  enough  to  be  confuted : 
Scotists  and  Thomists,  now  in  peace  remain, 
Amidst  their  kindred  cobwebs  in  Duck-lane. 
If  faith  itself  has  different  dresses  worn, 
What  wonder  modes  in  wit  should  take  their  turn? 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  87 

Oft,  leaving  what  is  natural  and  fit, 

'The  current  folly  proves  the  ready  wit ; 

And  authors  think  their  reputation  safe,  450 

Which  lives  as  long  as  fools  are  pleased  to  laugh. 

Some,  valuing  those  of  their  own  side  or  mind, 
Still  make  themselves  the  measure  of  mankind  : 
Fondly  we  think  we  honour  merit  then, 
When  we  but  praise  ourselves  in  other  men. 
Parties  in  wit  attend  on  those  of  state, 
And  public  faction  doubles  private  hate. 
Pride,  malice,  folly,  against  Dryden  rose, 
la  various  shapes  of  parsons,  critics,  beaux  : 
But  sense  survived,  when  merry  jests  were  past ;  460 
For  rising  merit  will  buoy  up  at  last. 
Might  he  return  and  bless  once  more  our  eyes, 
New  Blackmores  and  new  Milbourns  must  arise ; 
Nay,  should  great  Homer  lift  his  awful  head, 
Zoilus  again  would  start  up  from  the  dead. 
Envy  will  merit,  as  its  shade,  pursue ; 
But,  like  a  shadow,  proves  the  substance  true  : 
For  envied  wit,  like  Sol  eclipsed,  makes  known 
The  opposing  body's  grossness,  not  its  own. 
When  first  that  sun  too  powerful  beams  displays,  470 
It  draws  up  vapours  which  obscure  its  rays ; 
But  e'en  those  clouds  at  last  adorn  its  way, 
Reflect  new  glories,  and  augment  the  day. 

Be  thou  the  first  true  merit  to  befriend ; 
His  praise  is  lost  who  stays  till  ail  commend. 
Short  is  the  date,  alas !  of  modern  rhymes, 
And  'tis  but  just  to  let  them  live  betimes. 
No  longer  now  that  golden  age  appears, 
When  patriarch-wits  survived  a  thousand  years  : 
Now  length  of  fame  (our  second  life)  is  lost,        480 
And  bare  threescore  is  all  e'en  that  can  boast 
Our  sons  their  fathers'  failing  language  see. 
And  such  as  Chaucer  is,  shall  Dryden  be. 
So  when  the  faithful  pencil  has  design'd 
Some  bright  idea  of  the  master's  mind, 


88  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Where  a  new  world  leaps  out  at  his  command, 

And  ready  nature  waits  upon  his  hand ; 

When  the  ripe  colours  soften  and  unite, 

And  sweetly  melt  into  just  shade  and  light ; 

When  mellowing  years  their  full  perfection  give,  490 

And  each  bold  figure  just  begins  to  live  ; 

The  treacherous  colours  the  fair  art  betray 

And  all  the  bright  creation  fades  away  ! 

Unhappy  wit,  like  most  mistaken  things, 
Atones  not  for  that  envy  which  it  brings ; 
In  youth  alone  its  empty  praise  we  boast, 
But  soon  the  short-lived  vanity  is  lost ; 
Like  some  fair  flower  the  early  spring  supplies, 
That  gaily  blooms,  but  e'en  in  blooming  dies. 
What  is  this  wit,  which  must  our  cares  employ  ?  500 
The  owner's  wife  that  other  men  enjoy ; 
Then  most  our  trouble  still  when  most  admired, 
And  still  the  more  we  give,  the  more  required 
Whose  fame  with  pains  we  guard,  but  lose  with  ease, 
Sure  some  to  vex,  but  never  all  to  please ; 
'Tis  what  the  vicious  fear,  the  virtuous  shun ; 
By  fools  'tis  hated,  and  by  knaves  undone ! 

If  wit  so  much  from  ignorance  undergo, 
Ah,  let  not  learning  too  commence  its  foe  ! 
Of  old,  those  met  rewards  who  could  excel,          51( 
And  such  were  praised  who  but  endeavour'd  well; 
Though  triumphs  were  to  generals  only  due, 
Crowng  were  reserved  to  grace  the  soldiers  too. 
Now  they  who  reach  Parnassus'  lofty  crown, 
Employ  their  pains  to  spurn  some  others  down; 
And  while  self-love  each  jealous  writer  rules, 
Contending  wits  become  the  sport  of  fools  : 
But  still  the  worst  with  most  regret  commend, 
For  each  ill  author  is  as  bad  a  friend. 
To  what  base  ends,  and  by  what  abject  ways,        52<? 
Are  mortals  urged  through  sacred  lust  of  praise ! 
Ah,  ne'er  so  dire  a  thirst  of  glory  boast, 
\or  in  the  critic  let  the  man  be  lost 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 


89 


Good  nature  and  good  sense  must  ever  join ; 
To  err,  is  human ;  to  forgive,  divine. 

But  if  in  noble  minds  some  dregs  remain, 
Not  yet  purged  off,  of  spleen  and  sour  disdain ; 
Discharge  that  rage  on  more  provoking  crimes, 
Nor  fear  a  dearth  in  these  flagitious  times. 
No  pardon  vile  obscenity  should  find,  530 

Though  wit  and  art  conspire  to  move  your  mind  ; 
But  dulness  with  obscenity  must  prove 
As  shameful  sure  as  impotence  in  love. 
In  the  fat  age  of  pleasure,  wealth,  and  ease, 
Sprang  the  rank  weed,  and  thrived  with  large  increase: 
When  love  was  all  an  easy  monarch's  care ; 
Seldom  at  council,  never  in  a  war ; 
Jilts  rul'd  the  state,  and  statesmen  farces  writ : 
Nay,  wits  had  pensions,  and  young  lords  had  wit : 
The  fair  sat  panting  at  a  courtier's  play,  540 

And  not  a  mask  went  unimproved  away ; 
The  modest  fan  was  lifted  up  no  more, 
And  virgins  smiled  at  what  they  blush'd  before. 
The  following  licence  of  a  foreign  reign, 
Did  all  the  dregs  of  bold  Socinus  drain  ; 
Then  unbelieving  priests  reform'd  the  nation, 
And  taught  more  pleasant  methods  of  salvation; 
Where  Heaven's  free  subjects  might  their  rights  dis 
pute, 

Lest  God  himself  should  seem  too  absolute ; 
Pulpits  their  sacred  satire  learn'd  to  spare,  550 

And  vice  admired  to  find  a  flatterer  there ! 
Encouraged  thus,  wit's  Titans  braved  the  skies, 
And  the  press  groan'd  with  licensed  blasphemies. 
These  monsters,  critics !  with  your  darts  engage, 
Here  point  your  thunder,  and  exhaust  your  rage  ! 
Yet  shun  their  fault,  who  scandalously  nice 
Will  needs  mistake  an  author  into  vice ; 
All  seems  infected,  that  the  infected  spy, 
As  all  looks  yellow  to  the  jaundiced  eye. 


80  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

PART  III. 

Rules  for  the  conduct  of  manners  in  a  critic.  1.  Can 
dour,  ver.  563.  Modesty,  ver.  566.  Good-breeding 
ver.  57-2.  Sincerity  and  freedom  of  advice,  ver.  578. 
2.  When  one's  counsel  is  to  be  restrained,  ver.  584. 
Character  of  an  incorrigible  poet,  ver.  600;  and  of  an 
impertinent  critic,  ver.  610,  &c.  Character  of  a  good 
critic,  ver.  629.  The  history  of  criticism,  and  charac 
ters  of  the  best  critics :  Aristotle,  ver.  645.  Horace, 
653.  Dionysius,  ver.  665.  Petronius,  ver.  667.  Q.U  in- 
tilian,  ver.  670.  Longinus,  ver.  675.  Of  the  decay  of 
criticism,  and  its  revival:  Erasmus,  ver.  693.  Vida, 
ver.  705.  Boileau,  ver.  714.  Lord  Roscommon,  &c. 
ver.  7-25.  Conclusion. 

LEARN  then  what  moral  critics  ought  to  show,     560 

For  'tis  but  half  a  judge's  task  to  know. 

'Tis  not  enough,  taste,  judgment,  learning  join  ; 

In  all  you  speak,  let  truth  and  candour  shine ; 

That  not  ilone  what  to  your  sense  is  due 

All  may  allow,  but  seek  your  friendship  too. 

Be  silent  always,  when  you  doubt  your  sense, 
And  speak,  though  sure,  with  seeming  diffidence : 
Some  positive,  persisting  fops  we  know, 
Who,  if  once  wrong,  will  needs  be  always  so : 
But  you,  with  pleasure,  own  your  errors  past,       570 
And  make  each  day  a  critique  on  the  last. 

'Tis  not  enough  your  counsel  still  be  true : 
Blunt  truths  more  mischief  than  nice  falsehoods  do ; 
Men  must  be  taught,  as  if  you  taught  them  not, 
And  things  unknown  proposed  as  things  forgot. 
Without  good  breeding  truth  is  disapproved : 
That  only  makes  superior  sense  beloved. 

Be  niggards  of  advice  on  no  pretence ; 
For  the  worst  avarice  is  that  of  sense. 
With  mean  complacence,  ne'er  betray  your  trust,  580 
Nor  be  so  civil  as  to  prove  unjust. 
Fear  not  the  anger  of  the  wise  to  raise  ; 
Those  best  can  bear  reproof,  who  merit  praise 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  91 

'Twere  well  might  critics  still  this  freedom  take : 
But  Appius  reddens  at  each  word  you  speak, 
And  stares  tremendous,  with  a  threatening  eye, 
Like  some  fierce  tyrant  in  old  tapestry. 
Fear  most  to  tax  an  honourable  fool, 
Whose  right  it  is,  uncensured,  to  be  dull : 
Such,  without  wit,  are  poets  when  they  please,     590 
As  without  learning  they  can  take  degrees. 
Leave  dangerous  truths  to  unsuccessful  satires, 
And  flattery  to  fulsome  dedicators, 
Whom,  when  they  praise,  the  world  believes  no  more 
Than  when  they  promise  to  give  scribbling  o'er. 
'Tis  best  sometimes  your  censure  to  restrain, 
And  charitably  let  the  dull  be  vain ; 
Your  silence  there  is  better  than  your  spite : 
For  who  can  rail  so  long  as  they  can  wrije  ? 
Still  humming  on,  their  drowsy  course  they  keep,  600 
And  lash'd  so  long,  like  tops,  are  lash'd  asleep. 
False  steps  but  help  them  to  renew  the  race, 
As,  after  stumbling,  jades  will  mend  their  pace. 
What  crowds  of  these,  impenitently  bold, 
In  sounds  and  jingling  syllables  grown  old, 
Still  run  on  poets,  in  a  raging  vein, 
E'en  to  the  dregs,  and  squeezings  of  the  brain; 
Strain  out  the  last  dull  droppings  of  their  sense, 
And  rhyme  with  all  the  rage  of  impotence ! 

Such  shameless  bards  we  have:  and  yet  'tis  true,  610 
There  are  as  mad,  abandon'd  critics  too. 
The  bookful  blockhead,  ignorantly  read, 
With  loads  of  learned  lumber  in  his  head, 
With  his  own  tongue  still  edifies  his  ears, 
And  always  listening  to  himself  appears. 
All  books  he  reads,  and  all  he  reads  assails, 
From  Dryden's  Fables  down  to  Durfey's  Tales  : 
With  him  most  authors  steal  their  works,  or  buy : 
Garth  did  not  write  his  own  Dispensary. 
Name  a  new  play,  and  he's  the  poet's  friend,        620 
Nay,  ghow'd  his  faults — but  when  would  poets  mend? 


92  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

No  place  so  sacred  from  such  fops  is  barr'd, 

Nor  is  Paul's  church  more  safe  than  Paul's  church-yard1? 

Nay,  fly  to  altars,  there  they'll  talk  you  dead ; 

For  fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. 

Distrustful  sense  with  modest  caution  speaks, 

It  still  looks  home,  and  short  excursions  makes; 

But  rattling  nonsense  in  full  volleys  breaks, 

And,  never  shock'd,  and  never  turn'd  aside, 

Bursts  out,  resistless,  with  a  thundering  tide.         63t 

But  where's  the  man  who  counsel  can  bestow, 
Still  pleas'd  to  teach,  and  yet  not  proud  to  know  1 
Unbiass'd,  or  by  favour,  or  by  spite  ; 
Not  dully  prepossess'd,  nor  blindly  right ; 
Though  learn'd,  well-bred ;  and,  though  well-bred, 

sincere ; 

Modestly  bold  and  humanly  severe : 
Who  to  a  friend  his  faults  can  freely  show, 
And  gladly  praise  the  merit  of  a  foe  ; 
Bless'd  with  a  taste  exact,  yet  unconfined ; 
A  knowledge  both  of  books  and  human  kind ;      640 
Generous  converse  ;  a  soul  exempt  from  pride  ; 
And  love  to  praise,  with  reason  on  his  side  1 

Such  once  were  critics  ;  such  the  happy  few 
Athens  and  Rome  in  better  ages  knew  : 
The  mighty  Stagyrite  first  left  the  shore, 
Spread  all  his  sails,  and  durst  the  deeps  explore : 
He  steer'd  securely,  and  discover'd  far, 
Led  by  the  light  of  the  M&onian  star. 
Poets,  a  race  long  unconfin'd  and  free, 
Still  fond  and  proud  of  savage  liberty,  650 

Received  his  laws,  and  stood  convinc'd  'twas  fit, 
Who  conquer'd  nature,  should  preside  o'er  wit. 

Horace  still  charms  with  graceful  negligence, 
And  without  method  talks  us  into  sense : 
Will,  like  a  friend,  familiarly  convey 
The  truest  notions  in  the  easiest  way. 
He  who,  supreme  in  judgment  as  in  wit, 
Might  boldly  censure,  as  he  boldly  writ ; 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  93 

Yet  judged  with  coolness,  though  he  sung  with  fire 
His  precepts  teach  but  what  his  works  inspire.      660 
Our  critics  take  a  contrary  extreme, 
They  judge  with  fury,  but  they  write  with  phlegm : 
Nor  suffers  Horace  more  in  wrong  translations 
By  wits,  than  critics  in  as  wrong  quotations. 

See  Dionysius  Homer's  thoughts  refine, 
And  call  new  beauties  forth  from  every  line ! 

Fancy  and  art  in  gay  Petronius  please, 
The  scholar's  learning  with  the  courtier's  ease. 

In  grave  Quintilian's  copious  work  we  find 
The  justest  rules  and  clearest  method  join'd  :       670 
Thus  useful  arms  in  magazines  we  place, 
All  ranged  in  order,  and  dispos'd  with  grace, 
But  less  to  please  the  eye  than  arm  the  hand, 
Still  fit  for  use,  and  ready  at  command. 

Thee,  bold  Longinus  !  all  the  Nine  inspire, 
And  bless  their  critic  with  a  poet's  fire: 
An  ardent  judge,  who,  zealous  in  his  trust, 
With  warmth  gives  sentence,  yet  is  always  just , 
Whose  own  example  strengthens  all  his  laws, 
And  fs  himself  that  great  sublime  he  draws.          680 

Thus  long  succeeding  critics  justly  reign'd, 
Licence  repress'd  and  useful  laws  ordain'd  : 
Learning  and  Rome  alike  in  empire  grew, 
And  arts  still  follow'd  where  her  eagles  flew ; 
From  the  same  foes,  at  last,  both  felt  their  doom, 
And  the  same  age  saw  learning  fall,  and  Rome. 
With  tyranny  then  superstition  join'd, 
As  that  the  body,  this  enslaved  the  mind ; 
Much  was  believed  but  little  understood, 
And  to  be  dull  was  construed  to  be  good :  699 

A  second  deluge  learning  thus  o'erran, 
And  the  monks  finish'd  what  the  Goths  began. 

At  length  Erasmus,  that  great  injured  name, 
(The  glory  of  the  priesthood,  and  the  shame  !) 
Stemm'd  the  wild  torrent  of  a  barbarous  age, 
And  drove  those  holy  Vandals  off  the  stage. 


94  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

But  see  !  each  muse,  in  Leo's  golden  days, 
Starts  from  her  trance,  and  trims  her  wither'd  bays  ; 
Rome's  ancient  genius,  o'er  its  ruins  spread, 
Shakes  off  the  dust,  and  rears  his  reverend  head.  709 
Then  sculpture  and  her  sister-arts  revive; 
Stones  leap'd  to  forra,  and  rocks  began  to  live ; 
With  sweeter  notes  each  rising  temple  rung; 
A  Raphael  painted,  and  a  Vida  sung. 
Immortal  Vida  !  on  whose  honour'd  brow 
The  poet's  bays  and  critic's  ivy  grow : 
Cremona  now  shall  ever  boast  thy  name, 
As  next  in  place  to  Mantua,  next  in  fame  ! 

But  soon  by  impious  arms  from  Latium  chased, 
Their  ancient  bounds  the  banish'd  muses  pass'd :  710 
Thence  arts  o'er  all  the  northern  world  advance, 
But  critic-learning  flourish'd  most  in  France : 
The  rules  a  nation  born  to  serve  obeys, 
And  Boileau  still  in  right  of  Horace  sways. 
But  we,  brave  Britons,  foreign  laws  despis'd, 
And  kept  unconquer'd  and  unciviliz'd  ; 
Fierce  for  the  liberties  of  wit,  and  bold, 
We  still  defied  the  Romans,  as  of  old. 
Yet  some  there  were  among  the  sounder  few 
Of  those  who  less  presum'd,  and  better  knew,       720 
Who  durst  assert  the  juster  ancient  cause, 
And  here  restor'd  wit's  fundamental  laws. 
Such  was  the  muse,  whose  rule  and  practice  tell, 
'  Nature's  chief  master-piece  is  writing  well.' 
Such  was  Roscommon,  not  more  learn'd  than  good, 
With  manners  generous  as  his  noble  blood  ; 
To  him  the  wit  of  Greece  and  Rome  was  known, 
And  every  author's  merit  but  his  own. 
Such  late  was  Walsh,  the  muse's  judge  and  friend, 
Who  justly  knew  to  blame  or  to  commend  ;          730 
To  failings  mild,  but  zealous  for  desert ; 
The  clearest  head,  and  the  sincerest  heart. 
Tli is  humble  praise,  lamented  shade!  receive, 
This  praipe  at  least  a  grateful  muse  may  give : 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  93 

The  muse,  whose  early  voice  you  taught  to  sing, 
Prescrib'd  her  heights,  and  prun'd  her  tender  wing, 
(Her  guide  now  lost,)  no  more  attempts  to  rise, 
But  in  low  numbers  short  excursions  tries  ; 
Content,  if  hence  th'  unlearn'd  their  wants  may  view, 
The  learn'd  reflect  on  what  before  they  knew  :      740 
Careless  of  censure,  nor  too  fond  of  fame  ; 
Still  pleas'd  to  praise,  yet  not  afraid  to  blame  : 
Averse  alike  to  flatter  or  offend  ; 
Not  free  from  faults,  nor  yet  too  vain  to  mend. 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 

A  HEROI-COMICAL  POEM. 

Written  in  the  Year  1712. 


TO  MRS.  ARABELLA  FERMOR. 

MADAM, 

IT  will  be  in  vain  to  deny  that  I  have  some  regard  for 
this  piece,  since  I  dedicate  it  to  you ;  yet  you  may 
bear  me  witness,  it  was  intended  only  to  divert  a  few 
young  ladies,  who  have  good  sense  and  good  humour 
enough  to  laugh  not  only  at  their  sex's  little  unguard 
ed  follies,  but  at  their  own.  But  as  it  was  commu 
nicated  with  the  air  of  a  secret,  it  soon  found  its  way 
into  the  world.  An  imperfect  copy  having  been  of 
fered  to  a  bookseller,  you  had  the  good  nature  for  my 
sake  to  consent  to  the  publication  of  one  more  cor 
rect.  This  I  was  forced  to,  before  I  had  executed 
half  my  design;  for  the  machinery  was  entirely  want 
ing  to  complete  it. 

The  machinery,  madam,  is  a  term  invented  by  the 
critics,  to  signify  that  part  which  the  deities,  angels, 
or  demons,  are  made  to  act  in  a  poem :  for  the  ancient 
poets  are,  in  one  respect,  like  many  modern  ladies  : 
let  an  action  be  never  so  trivial  in  itself  thev  always 


96  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

make  it  appear  of  the  utmost  importance.  These 
machines  1  determined  to  raise  on  a  very  new  and 
odd  foundation,  the  Rosicrucian  doctrine  of  spirits. 

I  know  how  disagreeable  it  is  to  make  use  of  hare? 
words  before  a  lady;  but  it  is  so  much  the  concern  of 
a  poet  to  have  his  works  understood,  and  particular!} 
by  your  sex,  that  you  must  give  me  leave  to  explain 
two  or  three  difficult  terms. 

The  Rosicrucians  are  a  people  I  must  bring  you  * 
acquainted  with.  The  best  account  I  know  of  them 
is  in  a  French  book  called  Le  Compte  de  Gabalis, 
which,  both  in  its  title  and  size,  is  so  like  a  novel, 
that  many  of  the  fair  sex  have  read  it  for  one  by  mis 
take.  According  to  these  gentlemen,  the  four  ele 
ments  are  inhabited  by  spirits,  which  they  call  Sylphs, 
Gnomes,  Nymphs,  and  Salamanders.  The  Gnomes, 
or  demons  of  earth,  delight  in  mischief;  but  the 
Sylphs,  whose  habitation  is  in  the  air,  are  the  best 
conditioned  creatures  imaginable  ;  for  they  say,  any 
mortal  may  enjoy  the  most  intimate  familiarities 
with  these  gentle  spirits,  upon  a  condition  very  easy  to 
all  true  adepts — an  inviolate  preservation  of  chastity. 

As  to  the  following  cantos,  all  the  passages  of  them 
are  as  fabulous  as  the  vision  at  the  beginning,  or  the 
transformation  at  the  end  (except  the  loss  of  your 
hair,  whifch  I  always  mention  with  reverence.)  The 
human  persons  are  as  fictitious  as  the  airy  ones ;  and 
the  character  of  Belinda,  as  it  is  now  managed,  re 
sembles  you  in  nothing  but  in  beauty. 

If  this  poem  had  as  many  graces  as  there  are  in 
your  person  or  in  your  mind,  yet  I  could  never  hope 
it  should  pass  through  the  world  half  so  uncensured 
as  you  have  done.  But  let  its  fortune  be  what  it  wil] 
mine  is  happy  enough  to  have  given  me  this  occasion 
of  assuring  you  that  I  am,  with  the  truest  esteem, 

Madam, 

Your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 
A    POPE 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

Nolueram,  Belinda,  tuos  violare  capillos; 
Sed  juvat,  hoc  precibus  me  tribuisse  tuis.    MART. 


CANTO  I. 

WHAT  dire  offence  from  amorous  causes  springs, 
What  mighty  contests  rise  from  trivial  things, 
I  sing  ;  —  this  verse  to  Caryl,  Muse  !  is  due  : 
This  e'en  Belinda  may*rouchsafe  to  view  : 
Slight  is  the  subject,  but  not  so  the  praise, 
If  she  inspire,  and  he  approve  my  lays. 

Say  what  strange  motive,  goddess  !  could  compel 
A  well-bred  lord  to  assault  a  gentle  belle  ? 
O  say  what  stranger  cause,  yet  unexplored, 
Could  make  a  gentle  belle  reject  a  lord? 
In  tasks  so  bold,  can  little  men  engage  ? 
And  in  soft  bosoms  dwells  such  mighty  rage  ? 

Sol  through  white  curtains  shot  a  timorous  ray 
And  oped  those  eyes  that  must  eclipse  the  day  : 
Now  lap-dogs  give  themselves  the  rousing  shake, 
And  sleepless  lovers,  just  at  twelve,  awake: 
Thrice  rung  the  bell,  the  slipper  knock'd  the  ground, 
And  the  press'd  watch  return'd  a  silver  sound. 
Belinda  still  her  downy  pillow  press'd, 
Her  guardian  Sylph  prolong'd  the  balmy  rest  : 
'Twas  he  had  summon'd  to  her  silent  bed 
The  morning  dream  that  hover'd  o'er  her  head. 
A  youth  more  glittering  than  a  birth-night  beau 
(That  e'en  in  slumber  caused  her  cheek  to  glow) 
Seem'd  to  her  ear  his  winning  lips  to  lay, 
And  thus  in  whispers  said,  or  seem'd  to  say  : 

'Fairest  of  mortals,  thou  distinguished  care 
Of  thousand  bright  inhabitants  of  air  ! 
If  e'er  one  vision  touch'd  thy  infant  thought, 
Of  all  the  nurse  and  all  the  priest  have  taught  : 
Of  airy  elves  by  moonlight  shadows  seen, 
The  silver  token,  and  the  circled  green, 
7 


38  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Or  virgins  visited  by  angel-powers, 

With  golden  crowns  and  wreaths  of  heavenly  flowers 

Hear,  and  believe  !  thy  own  importance  know, 

Nor  bound  thy  narrow  views  to  things  below. 

Some  secret  truths,  from  learned  pride  conceal'd, 

To  maids  alone  and  children  are  reveal'd. 

What,  though  no  credit  doubting  wits  may  give, 

The  fair  and  innocent  shall  still  believe. 

Know  then,  unnumber'd  spirits  round  thee  fly, 

The  light  militia  of  the  lower  sky  : 

These,  though  unseen,  are  ever  on  the  wing, 

Hang  o'er  the  box,  and  hover  round  the  ring. 

Think  what  an  equipage  thou  hast  in  air, 

And  view  with  scorn  two  pages  and  a  chair. 

As  now  your^own,  our  beings  were  of  old, 

And  once  enclosed  in  woman's  beauteous  mould ; 

Thence,  by  a  soft  transition  we  repair, 

From  earthly  vehicles  to  those  of  air. 

Think  not,  when  woman's  transient  breath  is  fled, 

That  all  her  vanities  at  once  are  dead  : 

Succeeding  vanities  she  still  regards, 

And  though  she  plays  no  more,  o'erlooks  the  card? 

Her  joy  in  gilded  chariots,  when  alive, 

.And  love  of  ombre,  after  death  survive. 

for  when  the  fair  in  all  their  pride  expire, 

To  their  first  elements  their  souls  retire: 

The  sprites  of  fiery  termagants  in  flame 

iVTount  up,  and  take  a  Salamander's  name. 

Soft  yielding  minds  to  water  glide  away, 

And  sip,  with  nymphs,  their  elemental  tea. 

Die  graver  prude  sinks  downward  to  a  Gnome, 

,n  search  of  mischief  still  on  earth  to  roam. 

The  light  coquettes  in  Sylphs  aloft  repair, 

And  sport  and  flutter  in  the  fields  of  air. 

'  Know  farther  yet ;  whoever,  fair  and  chaste, 
Rejects  mankind,  is  by  some  Sylph  embraced  : 
Tor  spirits,  freed  from  mortal  laws,  with  ease 
Assume  what  sexes  and  what  shapes  they  pleas< 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  99 

What  guards  the  purity  of  melting  maids, 
In  courtly  balls,  and  midnight  masquerades, 
Safe  from  the  treacherous  friend,  the  daring  spark, 
The  glance  by  day,  the  whisper  in  the  dark, 
When  kind  occasion  prompts  their  warm  desires, 
When  music  softens,  and  when  dancing  fires  ? 
*Tis  but  their  Sylph,  the  wise  celestials  know, 
Though  honour  is  the  word  with  men  below. 

'  Some  nymphs  there  are,  too  conscious  of  theil 

face, 

For  life  predestined  to  the  Gnomes'  embrace, 
These  swell  their  prospects,  and  exalt  their  pride, 
When  offers  are  disdain'd,  and  love  denied : 
Then  gay  ideas  crowd  the  vacant  brain, 
While  peers,  and  dukes,  and  all  their  sweeping  train. 
And  garters,  stars,  and  coronets  appear, 
And  in  soft  sounds, '  your  grace'  salutes  their  ear. 
'Tis  these  that  early  taint  the  female  soul, 
Instruct  the  eyes  of  young  coquettes  to  roll, 
Teach  infant  cheeks  a  hidden  blush  to  know, 
And  little  hearts  to  flutter  at»a  beau. 

'  Oft  when  the  world  imagine  women  stray, 
The  Sylphs  through  mystic  mazes  guide  their  way, 
Through  all  the  giddy  circle  they  pursue, 
And  old  impertinence  expel  by  new  ; 
What  tender  maid  but  must  a  victim  fall 
To  one  man's  treat,  but  for  another's  ball  ? 
When  Florio  speaks,  what  virgin  could  withstand, 
If  gentle  Damon  did  not  squeeze  her  hand  ? 
With  varying  vanities,  from  every  part, 
They  shift  the  moving  toy-shop  of  their  heart ; 
Where  wigs  with  wigs,  with  sword-knots  sword-knott 

strive, 

Beaux  banish  beaux,  and  coaches  coaches  drive. 
This  erring  mortals  levity  may  call ; 
Oh,  blind  to  truth !  the  Sylphs  contrive  it  all. 

'Of  these  am  I,  who  thy  protection  claim, 
A  watchful  sprite,  and  Ariel  is  my  name. 


100         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Late,  as  I  ranged  the  crystal  wilds  of  air, 
In  the  clear  mirror  of  thy  ruling  star, 
I  saw,  alas  !  some  dread  event  impend, 
Ere  to  the  main  this  morning  sun  descend  ; 
But  Heaven  reveals  not  what,  or  how,  or  where : 
Warn'd  by  thy  Sylph,  oh  pious  maid,  beware  ! 
This  to  disclose  is  all  thy  guarflian  can : 
Beware  of  all,  but  most  beware  of  man  !' 

He  said ;  when  Shock,who  thought  she  slept  too  long 
Leap'd  up,  and  waked  his  mistress  with  his  tongue. 
'Twas  then,  Belinda,  if  report  say  true, 
Thy  eyes  first  open'd  on  a  billet-doux ; 
Wounds,  charms,  and  ardour,  were  no  sooner  read. 
But  all  the  vision  vanish'd  from  thy  head. 

And  now  un»eil'd  the  toilet  stands  display'd, 
Each  silver  vase  in  mystic  order  laid. 
First  robed  in  white,  the  nymph  intent  adorea, 
With  head  uncover'd,  the  cosmetic  powers. 
A  heavenly  image  in  the  glass  appears, 
To  that  she  bends,  to  that  her  eyes  she  rears ; 
The  inferior  priestess,  at  her  altar's  side, 
Trembling,  begins  the  sacred  rites  of  pride. 
Unnumber'd  treasures  ope  at  once,  and  here 
The  various  offerings  of  the  world  appear ; 
From  each  she  nicely  culls  with  curious  toil, 
And  decks  the  goddess  with  the  glittering  spoil. 
This  casket  India's  glowing  gems  unlocks, 
And  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box. 
The  tortoise  here  and  elephant  unite, 
Transform'd  to  combs,  the  speckled  and  the  whito 
Here  files  of  pins  extend  their  shining  rows, 
Puffs,  powders,  patches,  Bibles,  billet-doux. 
Now  awful  Beauty  puts  on  all  its  arms ; 
The  fair  each  moment  rises  in  her  charms, 
Repairs  her  smiles,  awakens  every  grace, 
And  calls  forth  all  the  wonders  of  her  face  : 
Sees  by  degrees  a  purer  blush  arise, 
And  keener  lightnings  quicken  in  her  eyes. 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  101 

The  busy  sylphs  surround  their  darling  care, 
These  set  the  head,  and  those  divide  the  hair , 
Some  fold  the  sleeve,  while  others  plait  the  gown; 
And  Betty's  praised  for  labours  not  her  own. 


CANTO  II. 

NOT  with  more  glories,  in  the  ethereal  plain, 

The  sun  first  rises  o'er  the  purpled  main, 

Than,  issuing  forth,  the  rival  of  his  beams 

Launch'd  on  the  bosom  of  the  silver' d  Thames. 

Fair  nymphs  and  well-dress' d  youths  around  hershone^ 

But  every  eye  was  fix'd  on  her  alone. 

On  her  white  breast  a  sparkling  cross  she  wore, 

Which  Jews  might  kiss,  and  infidels  adore. 

Her  lively  looks  a  sprightly  mind  disclose, 

Quick  as  her  eyes,  and  as  unfix'd  as  those  : 

Favours  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends ; 

Oft  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends. 

Bright  as  the  sun,  her  eyes  the  gazers  strike, 

And,  like  the  sun,  they  shine  on  all  alike. 

Yet  graceful  ease,  and  sweetness  void  of  pride, 

Might  hide  her  faults,  if  belles  had  faults  to  hide  • 

If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 

Look  on  her  face,  and  you'll  forget  them  all. 

This  nymph,  to  the  destruction  of  mankind, 
Nourish'd  two  locks,  which  graceful  hung  behind 
In  equal  curls,  and  well  conspired  to  deck 
With  shining  ringlets  the  smooth  ivory  neck. 
Love  in  these  labyrinths  his  slaves  detains, 
And  mighty  hearts  are  held  in  slender  chains. 
With  hairy  springes  we  the  birds  betray ; 
Slight  lines  of  hair  surprise  the  finny  prey ; 
Fair  tresses  man's  imperial  race  ensnare, 
And  beauty  draws  us  with  a  single  hair. 

The  adventurous  baron  the  bright  locks  admired 
He  saw,  he  wish'd,  and  to  the  prize  aspired. 


102 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Resolv'd  to  win,  he  meditates  the  way, 
By  force  to  ravish,  or  by  fraud  betray ; 
For  when  success  a  lover's  toil  attends, 
Few  ask  if  fraud  or  force  attain'd  his  ends. 

For  this,  ere  Phoebus  rose,  he  had  implored 
Propitious  Heaven,  and  every  power  adored; 
But  chiefly  Love  ;  to  Love  an  altar  built, 
Of  twelve  vast  French  romances  neatly  gilt. 
There  lay  three  garters,  half  a  pair  of  gloves, 
And  all  the  trophies  of  his  former  loves. 
With  tender  billet-doux  he  lights  the  pyre, 
And  breathes  three  amorous  sighs  to  raise  the  fire. 
Then  prostrate  falls,  and  begs  with  ardent  eyes 
Soon  to  obtain,  and  long  possess  the  prize : 
The  powers  gave  ear,  and  granted  half  his  prayer 
The  rest  the  winds  dispersed  in  empty  air. 

But  now  secure  the  painted  vessel  glides, 
The  sun-beams  trembling  on  the  floating  tides  : 
While  melting  music  steals  upon  the  sky, 
And  soften'd  sounds  along  the  water  die ; 
Smooth  flow  the  waves,  the  zephyrs  gently  play, 
Belinda  smiled,  and  all  the  world  was  gay  ; 
All  but  the  Sylph :  with  careful  thoughts  oppress'd, 
The  impending  woe  sat  heavy  on  his  breast : 
He  summons  straight  his  denizens  of  air; 
The  lucid  squadrons  round  the  sails  repair: 
Soft  o'er  the  shrouds  aerial  whispers  breathe, 
That  seem'd  but  zephyrs  to  the  train  beneath. 
Some  to  the  sun  their  insect  wings  unfold, 
Waft  on  the  breeze,  or  sink  in  clouds  of  gold ; 
Transparent  forms  too  fine  for  mortal  sight, 
Their  fluid  bodies  half  dissolved  in  light. 
Loose  to  the  wind  their  airy  garments  flew, 
Thin  glittering  textures  of  the  filmy  dew, 
Dipp'd  in  the  richest  tinctures  of  the  skies, 
Where  light  disports  in  ever-mingling  dyes, 
Where  every  beam  new  transient  colours  flings, 
Colours  that  change  whene'er  they  wave  their  wingi 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  103 

Amid  the  circle  on  the  gilded  mast 
Superior  by  the  head,  was  Ariel  placed  ; 
His  purple  pinions  opening  to  the  sun, 
He  raised  his  azure  wand,  and  thus  begun: 

'Ye  Sylphs  and  Sylphids,  to  your  chief  give  ear- 
Fays,  Fairies,  Genii,  Elves,  and  Demons,  hear ; 
Ye  know  the  spheres,  and  various  tasks  assign'd 
By  laws  eternal  to  the  aerial  kind. 
Some  in  the  fields  of  purest  ether  play, 
And  bask  and  whiten  in  the  blaze  of  day ; 
Some  guide  the  course  of  wandering  orbs  on  high, 
Or  roll  the  planets  through  the  boundless  sky; 
Some,  less  refined,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  light 
Pursue  the  stars  that  shoot  athwart  the  night, 
Or  suck  the  mists  in  grosser  air  below, 
Or  dip  their  pinions  in  the  painted  bow, 
Or  brew  fierce  tempests  on  the  wintry  main, 
Or  o'er  the  glebe  distil  the  kindly  rain. 
Others  on  earth,  o'er  human  race  preside, 
Watch  all  their  ways,  and  all  their  actions  guide : 
Of  these  the  chief  the  care  of  nations  own, 
And  guard  with  arms  divine  the  British  throne. 

'  Our  humbler  province  is  to  tend  the  fair, 
Not  a  less  pleasing,  though  less  glorious  care  ; 
To  save  the  powder  from  too  rude  a  gale, 
Nor  let  the  imprison'd  essences  exhale  ; 
To  draw  fresh  colours  from  the  vernal  flowers , 
To  steal  from  rainbows,  ere  they  drop  in  showers 
A  brighter  wash  ;  to  curl  their  waving  hairs, 
Assist  their  blushes,  and  inspire  their  airs  : 
Nay,  oft  in  dreams,  invention  we  bestow, 
To  change  a  flounce  or  add  a  furbelow. 

'  This  day,  black  omens  threat  the  brightest  fair 
That  e'er  deserved  a  watchful  spirit's  care  : 
Some  dire  disaster,  or  by  force,  or  slight ; 
But  what,  or  where,  the  Fates  have  wrapp'd  in  night 
Whether  the  nympli  shall  break  Diana's  law, 
Or  some  frail  china  jar  receive  a  flaw  ; 


104         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Or  stain  her  honour,  or  her  new  brocade ; 

Forget  her  prayers,  or  miss  a  masquerade  , 

Or  lose  her  heart  or  necklace  at  a  ball ; 

Or  whether  Heaven  has  doom'd  that  Shock  must  fall, 

Haste  then,  ye  spirits  !  to  your  charge  repair ; 

The  fluttering  fan  be  Zcphyretta's  care  ; 

The  drops  to  thee,  Brillante,  we  consign  ; 

And,  Momentilla,  let  the  watch  be  thine; 

Do  thou,  Crispissa,  tend  her  favourite  lock ; 

Ariel  himself  shall  be  the  guard  of  Shock. 

'To  fifty  chosen  Sylphs,  of  special  note, 
We  trust  the  important  charge,  the  petticoat : 
Oft  have  we  known  that  sevenfold  fence  to  fail, 
Though  stiff  with  hoops,  and  arm'd  with  ribs  of  wnalo 
Form  a  strong  line  about  the  silver  bound, 
And  guard  the  wide  circumference  around. 

'  Whatever  spirit,  careless  of  his  charge, 
His  post  neglects,  or  leaves  the  fair  at  large, 
Shall  feel  sharp  vengeance  soon  o'ertake  his  sins  ; 
Be  stopp'd  in  vials,  or  transfix'd  with  pins; 
Or  plunged  in  lakes  of  bitter  washes  lie, 
Or  wedged  whole  ages  in  a  bodkin's  eye ; 
Gums  and  pomatums  shall  his  flight  restrain, 
While  clogg'd  he  beats  his  silken  wings  in  vain ; 
Or  alum  styptics,  with  contracting  power, 
Shrink  his  thin  essence  like  a  shrivel'd  flower  : 
Or,  as  Ixion  fix'd,  the  wretch  shall  feel 
The  giddy  motion  of  the  whirling  mill, 
In  fumes  of  burning  chocolate  shall  glow, 
And  tremble  at  the  sea  that  froths  below!' 

He  spoke ;  the  spirits  from  the  sails  descend; 
Some,  orb  in  orb,  around  the  nymph  extend  ; 
Some  thrid  the  mazy  ringlets  of  her  hair; 
Some  hang  upon  the  pendants  of  her  car  ; 
With  beating  hearts  the  dire  event  they  wait, 
Anxious  and  trembling  for  the  birth  of  fate. 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.       10!> 

CANTO  III. 

CLOSE  by  those  meads,  for  ever  crown'd  with  flowers, 
Where  Thames  with  pride  surveys  his  rising  towers, 
There  stands  a  structure  of  majestic  frame, 
Which  from  the  neighbouring  Hampton  takes  its  name; 
Here  Britain's  statesmen  oft  the  fall  foredoom 
Of  foreign  tyrants,  and  of  nymphs  at  home  ; 
Here  thou,  great  Anna  !  whom  three  realms  obey, 
Dost  sometimes  counsel  take — and  sometimes  tea. 

Hither  the  heroes  and  the  nymphs  resort, 
To  taste  awhile  the  pleasures  of  a  court ; 
In  various  talk  the  instructive  hours  they  pass'd, 
Who  gave  the  ball,  or  paid  the  visit  last ; 
One  speaks  the  glory  of  a  British  queen, 
And  one  describes  a  charming  Indian  screen  ; 
A  third  interprets  motions,  looks,  and  eyes  ; 
At  every  word  a  reputation  dies. 
Snuff,  or  the  fan,  supply  each  pause  of  chat, 
With  singing,  laughing,  ogling,  and  all  that. 

Meanwhile,  declining  from  the  noon  of  day, 
The  sun  obliquely  shoots  his  burning  ray : 
The  hungry  judges  soon  the  sentence  sign, 
And  wretches  hang  that  jurymen  may  dine  ; 
The  merchant  from  the  Exchange  returns  in  peace, 
And  the  long  labours  of  the  toilet  cease. 
Belinda  now,  whom  thirst  of  fame  invites, 
Burns  to  encounter  two  adventurous  knights, 
At  Ombre  singly  to  decide  their  doom  ; 
And  swells  her  breast  with  conquests  yet  to  come 
Straight  the  three  bands  prepare  in  arms  to  join, 
Each  band  the  number  of  the  sacred  nine. 
Soon  as  she  spreads  her  hand,  the  aerial  guard 
Descend,  and  sit  on  each  important  card : 
First  Ariel  perch'd  upon  a  Matadore, 
Then  each  according  to  the  rank  they  bore : 
For  Sylphs,  yet  mindful  of  their  ancient  race, 
Are,  as  when  women,  wondrous  fond  of  place. 


106         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Behold,  four  kings  in  majesty  revered, 
With  hoary  whiskers,  and  a  forky  beard ; 
And  four  fair  queens,  whose  hands  sustain  a  flower, 
The  expressive  emblem  of  their  softer  power; 
Four  knaves  in  garbs  succinct,  a  trusty  band : 
Caps  on  their  heads,  and  halberts  in  their  hand  ; 
And  party-colour'd  troops,  a  shining  train, 
Drawn  forth  to  combat  on  the  velvet  plain. 

The  skilful  nymph  reviews  her  force  with  care : 
'  Let  spades  be  trumps !'  she  said,  and  trumps  they  wera 

Now  move  to  war  her  sable  Matadores, 
In  show  like  leaders  of  the  swarthy  Moors. 
Spadillo  first,  unconquerable  lord, 
Led  off  two  captive  trumps,  and  swept  the  board 
As  many  more  Manillio  forced  to  yield, 
And  march'd  a  victor  from  the  verdant  field. 
Him  Basto  follow'd,  but  his  fate  more  hard, 
Gain'd  but  one  trump,  and  one  plebeian  card. 
With  his  broad  sabre  next,  a  chief  in  years, 
The  hoary  majesty  of  Spades  appears, 
Puts  forth  one  manly  leg,  to  sight  reveal'd, 
The  rest  his  many-colour' d  robe  conceal'd. 
The  rebel  knave,  who  dares  his  prince  engage, 
Proves  the  just  victim  of  his  royal  rage. 
E'en  mighty  Pam,  that  kings  and  queens  o'erthrcw 
And  mow'd  down  armies  in  the  fights  of  Loo, 
Sad  chance  of  war  !  now  destitute  of  aid, 
Falls  undistinguish'd  by  the  victor  Spade  ! 
Thus  far  both  armies  to  Belinda  yield  ; 
Now  to  the  baron  Fate  inclines  the  field. 
His  warlike  amazon  her  host  invades, 
The  imperial  consort  of  the  crown  of  Spades. 
The  Club's  black  tyrant  first  her  victim  died, 
Spite  of  his  haughty  mien,  and  barbarous  pride  : 
What  boots  the  regal  circle  on  his  head, 
His  giant  limbs  in  state  unwieldy  spread ; 
That  long  behind  he  trails  his  pompous  robe, 

And,  of  all  monarchs  only  grasps  the  globe  ? 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  107 

The  baron  now  his  Diamonds  pours  apace ; 
The  embroider'd  king  who  shows  but  half  his  face, 
And  his  refulgent  queen  with  powers  combined, 
Of  broken  troops  an  easy  conquest  find. 
Clubs,  Diamonds,  Hearts,  in  wild  disorder  seen, 
With  throngs  promiscuous  strew  the  level  green. 
Thus  when  dispersed  a  routed  army  runs, 
Of  Asia's  troops,  and  Afric's  sable  sons, 
With  like  confusion  different  nations  fly, 
Of  various  habit,  and  of  various  dye. 
The  pierced  battalions  disunited  fall, 
In  heaps  on  heaps  ;  one  fate  o'erwhelms  them  all. 

The  knave  of  Diamonds  tries  his  wily  arts, 
And  wins  (oh  shameful  chance !)  the  queen  of  Hearts 
At  this,  the  blood  the  virgin's  cheek  forsook, 
A  livid  paleness  spreads  o'er  all  her  look ; 
She  sees,  and  trembles  at  the  approaching  ill, 
Just  in  the  jaws  of  ruin  and  Codille. 
And  now,  (as  oft  in  some  distemper'd  state) 
On  one  nice  trick  depends  the  general  fate, 
An  ace  of  Hearts  steps  forth :  the  king  unseen 
Lurk'd  in  her  hand,  and  mourn 'd  his  captive  queen : 
He  springs  to  vengeance  with  an  eager  pace, 
And  falls  like  thunder  on  the  prostrate  ace. 
The  nymph  exulting  fills  with  shouts  the  sky ; 
The  walls,  the  woods,  and  long  canals  reply. 

O  thoughtless  mortals  !  ever  blind  to  fate ; 
Too  soon  dejected,  and  too  soon  elate. 
Sudden,  these  honours  shall  be  snatch'd  away, 
And  cursed  for  ever  this  victorious  day. 

For  lo !  the  board  with  cups  and  spoons  is  crown'd, 
The  berries  crackle,  and  the  mill  turns  round : 
On  shining  altars  of  Japan  they  raise 
The  silver  lamp  ;  the  fiery  spirits  blaze  : 
From  silver  spouts  the  grateful  liquors  glide, 
While  China's  earth  receives  the  smoking  tide  ; 
At  once  they  gratify  their  scent  and  taste, 
And  frequent  cups  prolong  the  rich  repast. 


108         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Straight  hover  round  the  fair  her  airy  band : 
Some,  as  she  sipp'd,  the  fuming  liquor  fann'd ; 
Some  o'er  her  lap  their  careful  plumes  display'd, 
Trembling  and  conscious  of  the  rich  brocade. 
Coffee  (which  makes  the  politician  wise, 
And  see  through  all  things  with  his  half-shut  eyea 
Sent  up  in  vapours  to  the  baron's  brain 
New  stratagems  the  radiant  lock  to  gain. 
Ah  cease,  rash  youth ;  desist  ere  'tis  too  late, 
Fear  the  just  gods,  and  tbink  of  Scylla's  fate ! 
Changed  to  a  bird,  and  sent  to  flit  in  air, 
She  dearly  paid  lor  Nisus'  injured  hair ! 

But  when  to  mischief  mortals  bend  their  will 
How  soon  they  find  fit  instruments  of  jll ! 
Just  then,  Clarissa  drew,  with  tempting  grace, 
A  two-edged  weapon  from  her  shining  case ; 
So  ladies,  in  romance,  assist  their  knight, 
Present  the  spear,  and  arm  him  for  the  fight. 
He  takes  the  gift  with  reverence,  and  extends 
The  little  engine  on  his  fingers'  ends  ; 
This  just  behind  Belinda's  neck  he  spread, 
As  o'er  the  fragrant  steams  she  bent  her  head. 
Swift  to  the  lock  a  thousand  sprites  repair, 
A  thousand  wings,  by  turns,  blow  back  the  hair! 
And  thrice  they  twitch'd  the  diamond  in  her  ear  ; 
Thrice  she  look'd  back,  and  thrice  the  foe  drew  neaj 
Just  in  that  instant,  anxious  Ariel  sought 
The  close  recesses  of  the  virgin's  thought ; 
As  on  the  nosegay  in  her  breast  reclined, 
He  watch'd  the  ideas  rising  in  her  mind, 
Sudden  he  view'd  in  spite  of  all  her  art, 
An  earthly  lover  lurking  at  her  heart. 
Amazed,  confused,  he  found  his  power  expired, 
Resign'd  to  fate,  and  with  a  sigh  retired. 

The  peer  now  spreads  the  glittering  forfex  wide, 
To  enclose  the  lock ;  now  joins  it,  to  divide. 
E'en  then,  before  the  fatal  engine  closed, 
A  wretched  Sylph  too  fondly  interposed  ; 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  101 

Fate  urged  the  shears,  and  cut  the  Sylph  in  twain ; 
(But  airy  substance  soon  unites  again  ;) 
The  meeting  points  the  sacred  hair  dissever, 
From  the  fair  head,  for  ever,  and  for  ever ! 

Then  flash'd  the  livid  lightning  from  her  eyes, 
And  streams  of  horror  rend  the  affrighted  skies. 
Not  louder  shrieks  to  pitying  Heaven  are  cast, 
When  husbands,  or  when  lap-dogs,  breathe  their  last 
Or  when  rich  china  vessels,  fallen  from  high, 
In  glittering  dust,  and  painted  fragments  lie. 

'  Let  wreaths  of  triumph  now  my  temples  twine ! 
(The  victor  cried  ;)  the  glorious  prize  ^s  mine  ! 
While  fish  in  streams,  or  birds  delight  in  air, 
Or  in  a  coachrand  six  the  British  fair; 
As  long  as  Atalantis  shall  be  read, 
Or  the  small  pillow  grace  a  lady's  bed ; 
While  visits  shall  be  paid  on  solemn  days, 
When  numerous  wax-lights  in  bright  order  blaze : 
While  nymphs  take  treats,  or  assignations  give, 
So  long  my  honour,  name,  and  praise  shall  live ! 
What  time  would  spare  from  steel  receives  its  date, 
And  monuments,  like  men,  submit  to  fate : 
Steel  could  the  labour  of  the  gods  destroy, 
And  strike  to  dust  the  imperial  towers  of  Troy ; 
Steel  could  the  wo«ks  of  mortal  pride  confound, 
And  hew  triumphal  arches  to  the  ground. 
What  wonder  then,  fair  nymph !  thy  hairs  should  fee 
The  conquering  force  of  unresisted  steel  ?' 


CANTO  IV. 

BUT  anxious  cares  the  pensive  nymph  oppress'd, 
And  secret  passions  labour'd  in  her  breast. 
Not  youthful  kings  in  battle  seized  alive, 
Not  scornful  virgins  who  their  charms  survive, 
Not  ardent  lovers  robb'd  of  all  their  bliss, 
N6t  ancient  ladies  when  refused  a  kiss, 


110         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Not  tyrants  fierce  that  unrepenting  die, 
Not  Cynthia  when  her  mantua's  pinn'd  awry, 
E'er  felt  such  rage,  resentment,  and  despair, 
As  thou,  sad  virgin  !  for  thy  ravish'd  hair. 

For,  that  sad  moment,  when  the  Sylphs  withdrew 
And  Ariel  weeping  from  Belinda  flew, 
Umbriel,  a  dusky,  melancholy  sprite, 
As  ever  sullied  the  fair  face  of  light, 
Down  to  the  central  earth,  his  proper  scene, 
Repair'd  to  search  the  gloomy  cave  of  Spleen. 

Swift  on  his  sooty  pinions  flits  the  Gnome, 
And  in  a  vapour  reach'd  the  dismal  dome. 
No  cheerful  breeze  this  sullen  region  knows, 
The  dreadful  east  is  all  the  wind  that  blows. 
Here  in  a  grotto,  shelter'd  close  from  air, 
And  screen'd  in  shades  from  day's  detested  glare, 
She  sighs  for  ever  on  her  pensive  bed, 
Pain  at  her  side,  and  Megrim  at  her  head. 

Two  handmaids  wait  the  throne :  alike  in  place, 
But  differing  far  in  figure  and  in  face. 
Here  stood  Ill-nature  like  an  ancient  maid, 
Her  wrinkled  form  in  black  and  white  array'd ; 
With  store  of  prayers,  for  mornings,  nights,  and  noons, 
Her  hand  is  fill'd  :  her  bosom  with  lampoons. 
There  Affectation,  with  a  sickly  iffien, 
Shows  in  her  cheek  the  roses  of  eighteen, 
Practised  to  lisp,  and  hang  the  head  aside, 
Faints  into  airs,  and  languishes  with  pride, 
On  the  rich  quilt  sinks  with  becoming  woe, 
Wrapp'd  in  a  gown,  for  sickness  and  for  show. 
The  fair  ones  feel  such  maladies  as  these, 
When  each  new  night-dress  gives  a  new  disease. 

A  constant  vapour  o'er  the  palace  flies ; 
Strange  phantoms  rising  as  the  mists  arise ; 
Dreadful,  as  hermits'  dreams  in  haunted  shades 
Or  bright,  as  visions  of  expiring  maids  ; 
Now  glaring  fiends,  and  snakes  on  rolling  spires, 
Pale  spectres,  gaping  tombs,  and  purple  fires  : 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  Ill 

Now  lakes  of  liquid  gold,  Elysian  scenes, 
And  crystal  domes,  and  angels  in  machines. 

Unnumber'd  throngs  on  every  side  are  seen, 
Of  bodies  changed  to  various  forms  by  Spleen. 
Here  living  tea-pots  stand,  one  arm  held  out, 
One  bent ;  the  handle  this,  and  that  the  spout ; 
A  pipkin  there,  like  Homer's  tripod  walks ; 
Here  sighs  a  jar,  and  there  a  goose-pie  talks ; 
Men  prove  with  child,  as  powerful  fancy  works, 
And  maids,  turn'd  bottles,  call  aloud  for  corks. 

Safe  pass'd  the  Gnome  through  this  fantastic  band, 
A  branch  of  healing  spleen-wort  in  his  hand. 
Then  thus  address'd  the  power ;  'Hail,way  ward  queen 
Who  rule  the  sex  from  fifty  to  fifteen : 
Parent  of  vapours,  and  of  female  wit, 
Who  give  the  hysteric,  or  poetic  fit, 
On  various  tempers  act  by  various  ways, 
Make  some  take  physic,  others  scribble  plays  : 
Who  cause  the  proud  their  visits  to  delay, 
And  send  the  godly  in  a  pet  to  pray. 
A  nymph  there  is,  that  all  thy  power  disdains, 
And  thousands  more  in  equal  mirth  maintains. 
But  oh  !  i-f  e'er  thy  Gnome  could  spoil  a  grace, 
Or  raise  a  pimple  in  a  beauteous  face, 
Like  citron-waters,  matrons'  cheeks  inflame, 
Or  change  complexions  at  a  losing  game*; 
If  e'er  with  airy  horns  I  planted  heads, 
Or  rumpled  petticoats,  or  tumbled  beds, 
Or  caused  suspicion  when  no  soul  was  rude, 
Or  discomposed  the  head-dress  of  a  prude, 
Or  e'er  to  costive  lap-dogs  gave  disease, 
Which  not  the  tears  of  brightest  eyes  could  ease: 
Hear  me,  and  touch  Belinda  with  chagrin : 
That  single  act  gives  half  the  world  the  spleen.' 

The  goddess  with  a  discontented  air 
Seems  to  reject  him,  though  she  grants  his  prayer 
A  wondrous  bag  with  both  her  hands  she  binds, 
Like  that  where  once  Ulysses  held  the  winds  ; 


J12          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

There  she  collects  the  force  of  female  lungs, 
Sighs,  sobs,  and  passions,  and  the  war  of  tongues 
A  vial  next  she  fills  with  fainting  fears, 
Soft  sorrows,  melting  griefs,  and  flowing  tears. 
The  Gnome  rejoicing  bears  her  gifts  away, 
Spreads  his  black  wings,  and  slowly  mounts  to  day 

Sunk  in  Thalestris'  arms  the  nymph  he  found, 
Her  eyes  dejected  and  her  hair  unbound. 
Full  o'er  their  heads  the  swelling  bag  he  rent, 
And  all  the  furies  issued  at  the  vent. 
Belinda  burns  with  more  than  mortal  ire, 
And  fierce  Thalestris  fans  the  rising  fire. 
'  O  wretched  maid  !'  she  spread  her  hands,  and  cried. 
(While  Hampton's  echoes,  'wretched  maid !'  replied, 
'  Was  it  for  this  you  took  such  constant  care 
The  bodkin,  comb,  and  essence  to  prepare  ? 
For  this  your  locks  in  paper  durance  bound  ? 
For  this  with  torturing  irons  wreathed  around  ? 
For  this  with  fillets  strain'd  your  tender  head, 
And  bravely  bore  the  double  loads  of  lead  ? 
Gods  !  shall  the  ravisher  display  your  hair, 
While  the  fops  envy,  and  the  ladies  stare  ? 
Honour  forbid  !  at  whose  unrivall'd  shrine 
Ease,  pleasure,  virtue,  all  our  sex  resign. 
Methinks  already  I  your  tears  survey, 
Already  hear  the  horrid  things  they  say, 
Already  see  you  a  degraded  toast, 
And  all  your  honour  in  a  whisper  lost ! 
How  shall  I,  then,  your  hapless  fame  defend  ? 
Twill  then  be  infamy  to  seem  your  friend ! 
And  shall  this  prize,  the  inestimable  prize, 
Exposed  through  crystal  to  the  gazing  eyes, 
And  heighten'd  by  the  diamond's  circling  rays, 
On  that  rapacious  hand  for  ever  blaze  ? 
Sooner  shall  grass  in  Hyde-park  circus  grow, 
And  wits  take  lodgings  in  the  sound  of  Bow  ! 
Sooner  let  air,  earth,  sea,  to  chaos  fall, 
Men,  monkeys,  lap-dogs,  parrots,  perish  all !' 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  113 

She  said ;  then  raging  to  sir  Plume  repairs, 
And  bids  her  beau  demand  the  precious  hairs  : 
(Sir  Plume  of  amber  snuff-box  justly  vain, 
And  the  nice  conduct  of  a  clouded  cane :) 
With  earnest  eyes,  and  round  unthinking  face, 
He  first  the  snuff-box  open'd,  then  the  case, 
And  thus  broke  out : — '  My  Lord,  why,  what  the  devil? 

Z ds !  damn  the  lock :  'fore  Gad,  you  must  be  civil ! 

Plague  on't,  'tis  past  a  jest — nay  pr'ythee,  pox  ! 
Give  her  the  hair.' — He  spoke,  and  rapp'd  his  box. 

'  Ii  grieves  me  much  (replied  the  peer  again) 
Who  speaks  so  well  should  ever  speak  in  vain ; 
But  by  this  lock,  this  sacred  lock,  I  swear, 
(Which  never  more  shall  join  its  parted  hair ; 
Which  never  more  its  honours  shall  renew, 
Clipp'd  from  the  lovely  head  where  late  it  grew) 
That  while  my  nostrils  draw  the  vital  air, 
This  hand,  which  won  it,  shall  for  ever  wear." 
He  spoke,  and  speaking,  in  proud  triumph  spread 
The  long-contended  honours  of  her  head. 

But  Umbriel,  hateful  Gnome  !  forbears  not  so ; 
He  breaks  the  vial  whence  the  sorrows  flow. 
Then  see !  the  nymph  in  beauteous  grief  appears, 
Her  eyes  half-languishing,  half-drown'd  in  tears ; 
On  her  heaved  bosom  hung  her  drooping  head, 
Which,  with  a  sigh,  she  raised ;  and  thus  she  said  : 

'  For  ever  cursed  be  this  detested  day, 
Which  snatch'd  my  best,  my  favourite  curl  away. 
Happy  !  ah,  ten  times  happy  had  I  been, 
If  Hampton-Court  these  eyes  had  never  seen  ! 
Yet  am  not  I  the  first  mistaken  maid 
By  love  of  courts  to  numerous  ills  betray'd. 
Oh  had  I  rather  unadmired  remain'd 
In  some  lone  isle,  or  distant  northern  land ; 
Where  the  gilt  chariot  never  marks  the  way, 
Where  none  learn  ombre,  none  ere  taste  bohea ! 
There  kept  my  charms  conceal'd  from  mortal  eye^ 
Like  roses,  that  in  deserts  bloom  and  die. 
3 


114          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

What  moved  my  mind  with  youthful  lords  to  roam 
Oh  had  I  staid,  and  said  my  prayers  at  home ! 
'Twas  this,  the  morning  omens  seem'd  to  tell ; 
Thrice  from  my  trembling  hand  the  patch-box  fell- 
The  tottering  china  shook  without  a  wind, 
Nay,  Poll  sat  mute,  and  Shock  was  most  unkind  ! 
A  Sylph  too  warn'd  me  of  the  threats  of  fate, 
In  mystic  visions,  now  believed  too  late  ! 
See  the  poor  remnant  of  these  slighted  hairs  : 
My  hand  shall  rend  what  e'en  thy  rapine  spares  : 
These  in  two  sable  ringlets  taught  to  break, 
Once  gave  new  beauties  to  the  snowy  neck  : 
The  sister-lock  now  sits  uncouth,  alone, 
And  in  its  fellow's  fate  foresees  its  own ; 
Uncurl'd  it  hangs,  the  fatal  shears  demands, 
And  tempts  once  more  thy  sacrilegious  hands, 
Oh,  hadst  thou,  cruel !  been  content  to  seize 
Hairs  less  in  sight,  or  any  hairs  but  these  !' 


CANTO  V. 

SHE  said  ;  the  pitying  audience  melt  in  tears  ; 
But  fate  and  Jove  had  stopp'd  the  baron's  ears. 
In  vain  Thalestris  with  reproach  assails, 
For  who  can  move  when  fair  Belinda  fails  ? 
Not  half  so  fix'd  the  Trojan  could  remain, 
While  Anna  begg'd,  and  Dido  raged  in  vain. 
Then  grave  Clarissa  graceful  waved  her  fan  ; 
Silence  ensued,  and  thus  the  nymph  began  : 

'Say,  why  are  beauties  praised  and  honour' d  most, 
The  wise  man's  passion,  and  the  vain  man's  toast  ? 
Why  deck'd  with  all  that  land  and  sea  afford  ? 
Why  angels  call'd,  and  angel-like  adored  ? 
Why  round  our  coaches  crowd  the  white-gloved  beaux? 
Why  bows  the  side-box  from  its  inmost  rows  ? 
How  vain  are  all  these  glories,  all  our  pains, 
Unless  good  sense  preserve  what  beauty  gains  : 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  115 

That  men  may  say,  when  we  the  front  box  grace, 
Behold  the  first  in  virtue  as  in  face  ! 
Oh  !  if  to  dance  all  night  and  dress  all  day, 
Charm'd  the  small-pox,  or  chased  old  age  away, 
Who  would  not  scorn  what  housewife's  cares  produce^ 
Or  who  would  learn  one  earthly  thing  of  use  ? 
To  patch,  nay  ogle,  may  become  a  saint ; 
Nor  could  it  sure  be  such  a  sin  to  paint. 
But  since,  alas  !  frail  beauty  must  decay  ; 
Curl'd  or  uncurl'd,  since  locks  will  turn  to  gray; 
Since  painted,  or  not  painted,  all  shall  fade, 
And  she  who  scorns  a  man  must  die  a  maid ; 
What  then  remains  but  well  our  power  to  use, 
And  keep  good-humour  still,  whate'er  we  lose  ? 
And  trust  me,  dear  !  good-humour  can  prevail, 
When  airs,  and  flights,  and  screams,  and  scolding;  fail. 
Beauties  in  vain  their  pretty  eyes  may  foil ; 
Charms  strike  the  sight,  but  merit  wins  the  soul.' 

So  spoke  the  dame,  but  no  applause  ensued : 
Belinda  frown'd,  Thalestris  call'd  her  prude. 
'To  arms,  to  arms  !'  the  fierce  virago  cries, 
And  swift  as  lightning  to  the  combat  flies : 
All  side  in  parties,  and  begin  the  attack ; 
Fans  clap,  silks  rustle,  and  tough  whalebones  crack 
Heroes'  and  heroines'  shouts  confusedly  rise, 
And  base  and  treble  voices  strike  the  skies. 
No  common  weapons  in  their  hands  are  found; 
Like  gods  they  fight,  nor  dread  a  mortal  wound. 

So  when  bold  Homer  makes  the  gods  engage, 
And  heavenly  breasts  with  human  passions  rage ; 
Gainst  Pallas,  Mars  ;  Latona,  Hermes  arms  ; 
And  all  Olympus  rings  with  loud  alarms ; 
Jove's  thunder  roars,  heaven  trembles  all  around, 
Blue  Neptune  storms,  the  bellowing  deeps  resound, 
Earth  shakes  her  nodding  towers,the  ground  gives  way 
And  the  pale  ghosts  start  at  the  flash  of  day ! 

Triumphant  Umbriel,  on  a  sconce's  height, 
Clapp'd  his  glad  wings,  and  sat  to  view  the  fight: 


,1G          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Propp'd  on  their  bodkin-spears,  the  sprites  survey 
The  growing  combat,  or  assiot  the  fray. 

While  through  the  press  enraged  Thalestris  flies, 
And  scatters  death  around  from  both  her  eyes, 
A  beau  and  witling  perish'd  in  the  throng 
One  died  in  metaphor,  and  one  in  song. 

'  O  cruel  nymph  !  a  living  death  1  bear,' 
Cried  Dapperwit,  and  sunk  beside  his  chair. 
A  mournful  glance  sir  Fopling  upwards  cast : 
'Those  eyes  are  made  so  killing — '  was  his  last. 
Thus  on  Meander's  flowery  margin  lies 
The  expiring  swan,  and  as  he  sings  he  dies. 

When  bold  sir  Plume  had  drawn  Clarissa  down, 
Chloe  stepp'd  in,  and  kill'd  him  with  a  frown ; 
She  smiled  to  see  the  doughty  hero  slain, 
But,  at  her  smile,  the  beau  revived  again. 

Now  Jove  suspends  his  golden  scales  in  air, 
Weighs  the  men's  wits  against  the  lady's  hair; 
The  doubtful  beam  long  nods  from  side  to  side ; 
At  length  the  wits  mount  up,  the  hairs  subside. 

See  fierce  Belinda  on  the  baron  flies, 
With  more  than  usual  lightning  in  her  eyes  : 
Nor  fear'd  the  chief  the  unequal  fight  to  try, 
Who  sought  no  more  than  on  his  foe  to  die. 
But  this  bold  lord,  with  manly  strength  endued, 
She  with  one  finger  and  a  thumb  subdued : 
Just  where  the  breath  of  life  his  nostrils  drew, 
A  charge  of  snuff  the  wily  virgin  threw ; 
The  Gnomes  direct,  to  every  atom  just, 
The  pungent  grains  of  titillating  dust. 
Sudden  with  starting  tears  each  eye  o'erflows, 
And  the  high  dome  re-echoes  to  his  nose. 

'  Now  meet  thy  fate,'  incensed  Belinda  cried, 
And  drew  a  deadly  bodkin  from  her  side ; 
(The  same,  his  ancient  personage  to  deck, 
Her  great-great-grandsire  wore  about  his  neck, 
In  three  seal-rings  ;  which  after,  melted  down, 
Form'd  a  vast  buckle  for  his  widow's  gown : 


RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  117 

Her  infant  grandame's  whistle  next  it  grew, 
The  bells  she  jingled,  and  the  whistle  blew  ; 
Then  in  a  bodkin  graced  her  mother's  hairs, 
Which  long  she  wore,  and  now  Belinda  wears.) 

'  Boast  not  my  fall,'  he  cried,  '  insulting  foe  ! 
Thou  by  some  other  shall  be  laid  as  low. 
Nor  think,  to  die  dejects  my  lofty  mind : 
All  that  I  dread  is  leaving  you  behind  ! 
Rather  than  so,  ah  let  me  still  survive, 
And  burn  in  Cupid's  flames — but  burn  alive.' 

'  Restore  the  lock,'  she  cries ;  and  all  around 
'Restore  the  lock  !'  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 
Not  fierce  Othello  in  so  loud  a  strain 
Roar'd  for  the  handkerchief  that  caused  his  pain 
But  see  how  oft  ambitious  aims  are  cross'd, 
And  chiefs  contend  till  all  the  prize  is  lost ! 
The  lock,  obtain'd  with  guilt,  and  kept  with  pain, 
In  every  place  is  sought,  but  sought  in  vain  : 
With  such  a  prize  no  mortal  must  be  bless 'd  : 
So  Heaven  decrees  !  with  Heaven  who  can  contest  1 

Some  thought  it  mounted  to  the  lunar  sphere, 
Since  all  things  lost  on  earth  are  treasured  there : 
There  heroes'  wits  are  kept  in  ponderous  vases, 
And  beaus'  in  snuff-boxes  and  tweezer  cases  : 
There  broken  vows  and  death-bed  alms  are  found, 
And  lovers'  hearts  with  ends  of  riband  bound ; 
The  courtier's  promises,  and  sick  man's  prayers, 
The  smiles  of  harlots,  and  the  tears  of  heirs, 
Cages  for  gnats,  and  chains  to  yoke  a  flea, 
Dried  butterflies,  and  tomes  of  casuistry. 

But  trust  the  muse — she  saw  it  upward  rise, 
Though  mark'd  by  none  but  quick  poetic  eyes  ; 
(So  Rome's  great  founder  to  the  heavens  withdrew 
To  Proculus  alone  confess'd  in  view :) 
A  sudden  star  it  shot  through  liquid  air, 
And  drew  behind  a  radiant  trail  of  hair. 
Not  Berenice's  locks  first  rose  so  bright, 
The  heavens  bespangling  with  dishevell'd  light. 


118 


POPE  S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  Sylphs  behold  it  kindling  as  it  flics, 

And  pleased  pursue  its  progress  through  the  skies. 

This  the  beau-monde  shall  from  the  Mall  survey, 
And  hail  with  music  its  propitious  ray. 
This  the  bless'd  lover  shall  for  Venus  take, 
And  send  up  vows  from  llosamonda's  lake. 
This  Partridge  soon  shall  view  in  cloudless  skies, 
When  next  he  looks  through  Galileo's  eyes  ; 
And  hence  the  egregious  wizard  shall  foredoom 
The  fate  of  Louis,  and  the  fall  of  Rome. 

Then  cease,bright  nymph!  to  mourn  thy  ravish' d  hair 
Which  adds  new  glory  to  the  shining  sphere ! 
Not  all  the  tresses  that  fair  head  can  boast, 
Shall  draw  such  envy  as  the  lock  you  lost. 
For,  after  all  the  murders  ofyoureye, 
When,  after  millions  slain,  yourself  shall  die  ; 
When  those  fair  suns  shall  set,  as  set  they  must, 
And  all  those  tresses  shall  be  laid  indust, 
This  lock  the  muse  shall  consecrate  to  fame, 
And  'midst  the  stars  inscribe  Belinda's  name. 


ELEGY 

TO   THE 
MEMORY  OF  AN  UNFORTUNATE  LADY. 

WHAT  beckoning  ghost,  along  the  moonlight  shade, 
Invites  my  steps,  and  points  to  yonder  glade  ? 
'Tis  she  ! — but  why  that  bleeding  bosom  gored  ? 
Why  dimly  gleams  the  visionary  sword  ? 
Oh  ever  beauteous,  ever  friendly !  tell, 
Is  it,  in  heaven,  a  crime  to  love  too  well  ? 
To  bear  too  tender,  or  too  firm  a  heart  ? 
To  act  a  lover's  or  a  Roman's  part  ? 
Is  there  no  bright  reversion  in  the  sky, 
For  those  who  greatly  think,  or  bravely  die  ? 

Why  bade  ye  else,  ye  powers  !  her  soul  aspire 
Above  the  vulgar  flight  of  low  desire  ? 


ELEGY,  &c.  119 

Ambition  first  sprung  from  your  bless'd  abodes  , 
The  glorious  fault  of  angels  and  of  gods  : 
Thence  to  their  images  on  earth  it  flows, 
And  in  the  breasts  of  kings  and  heroes  glows. 
Most  souls,  'tis  true,  but  peep  out  once  an  age ; 
Dull  sullen  prisoners  in  the  body's  cage  ; 
Dim  lights  of  life,  that  burn  a  length  of  years, 
Useless,  unseen,  as  lamps  in  sepulchres  ; 
Like  eastern  kings,  a  lazy  state  they  keep, 
And,  close  confined  to  their  own  palace,  sleep. 

From  these  perhaps  (ere  nature  bade  her  die) 
Fate  snatch'd  her  early  to  the  pitying  sky. 
As  into  air  the  purer  spirits  flow, 
And  separate  from  their  kindred  dregs  below  : 
So  flew  the  soul  to  its  congenial  place, 
Nor  left  one  virtue  to  redeem  her  race. 

But  thou,  false  guardian  of  a  charge  too  good, 
Thou  mean  deserter  of  thy  brother's  blood  ! 
See  on  these  ruby  lips  the  trembling  breath, 
These  cheeks  now  fading  at  the  blast  of  death  ! 
Cold  is  that  breast  which  warm'd  the  world  before, 
And  those  love-darting  eyes  must  roll  no  more. 
Thus,  if  eternal  justice  rules  the  ball, 
Thus  shall  your  wives,  and  thus  your  children  fall: 
On  all  the  line  a  sudden  vengeance  waits, 
And  frequent  hearses  shall  besiege  your  gates  : 
There  passengers  shall  stand,  and  pointing,  say, 
(While  the  long  funerals  blacken  all  the  way,) 
'  Lo  !  these  were  they,  whose  souls  the  furies  steel  d, 
And  cursed  with  hearts  unknowing  how  to  yield.' 
Thus  unlamented  pass  the  proud  away, 
The  gaze  of  fools,  and  pageant  of  a  day  ! 
So  perish  all  whose  breast  ne'er  learn'd  to  glow 
For  others'  good,  or  melt  at  others*  woe. 

What  can  atone  (oh  ever  injured  shade  !) 
Thy  fate  unpitied,  and  thy  rites  unpaid  ? 
No  friend's  complaint,  no  kind  domestic  tear 
Pleased  thy  pale  ghost,  or  graced  thy  mournful  bier 


120          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were  closed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  decent  limbs  composed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  humble  grave  adorn'd, 
By  strangers  honour'd  and  by  strangers  mourn'd 
What  though  no  friends  in  sable  weeds  appear, 
GJfieve  for  an  hour,  perhaps,  then  mourn  a  year, 
And  bear  about  the  mockery  of  woe 
To  midnight  dances,  and  the  public  show  ? 
What  though  no  weeping  loves  thy  ashes  grace, 
Nor  polish'd  marble  emulate  thy  face  ? 
What  though  no  sacred  earth  allow  thee  room, 
Nor  hallow'd  dirge  be  mutter'd  o'er  thy  tomb  ? 
Yet  shall  thy  grave  with  rising  flowers  be  dress'd, 
And  the  green  turf  lie  lightly  on  thy  breast: 
There  shall  the  morn  her  earliest  tears  bestow, 
There  the  first  roses  of  the  year  shall  blow  ; 
While  angels  with  their  silver  wings  o'ershade 
The  ground  now  sacred  by  thy  reliques  made. 
So,  peaceful  rests,  without  a  stone,  a  name, 
What  once  had  beauty,  titles,  wealth,  and  fame. 
How  loved,  how  honour'd  once,  avails  thee  not, 
To  whom  related,  or  by  whom  begot ; 
A  heap  of  dust  alone  remains  of  thee  : 
'Tis  all  thou  art,  and  all  the  proud  shall  be  ! 

Poets  themselves  must  fall,  like  those  they  sung: 
Deaf  the  praised  ear,  and  mute  the  tuneful  tongue  : 
E'en  he  whose  soul  now  melts  in  mournful  lays, 
Shall  shortly  want  the  generous  tear  he  pays  ; 
Then  from  his  closing  eyes  thy  form  shall  part, 
And  the  last  pang  shall  tear  thee  from  his  heart ! 
Life's  idle  business  at  one  gasp  be  o'er, 
The  muse  forgot,  and  thou  beloved  no  more  ! 


PROLOGUE 

To  Mr.  Addison's  Tragedy  of  Cato. 
To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art, 
To  raise  the  genius,  and  to  mend  the  heart ; 


PROLOGUE,  &c.  121 

To  make  mankind  in  conscious  virtue  bold, 
Live  o'er  each  scene,  and  be  what  they  behold  : 
For  this  the  Tragic  Muse  first  trod  the  stage, 
Commanding  tears  to  stream  through  every  age ; 
Tyrants  no  more  their  savage  nature  kept, 
And  foes  to  virtue  wonder'd  how  they  wept. 

Our  author  shuns  by  vulgar  springs  to  move 
The  hero's  glory,  or  the  virgin's  love  ; 
In  pitying  love,  we  but  our  weakness  show, 
And  wild  ambition  well  deserves  its  woe. 
Here  tears  shall  flow  from  a  more  generous  cause, 
Such  tears  as  patriots  shed  for  dying  laws ; 
He  bids  your  breasts  with  ancient  ardour  rise, 
And  calls  forth  Roman  drops  from  British  eyes. 
Virtue  confess'd  in  human  shape  he  draws, 
What  Plato  thought,  and  godlike  Cato  was  : 
No  common  object  to  your  sight  displays, 
But  what  with  pleasure  Heaven  itself  surveys, 
A  brave  man  struggling  in  the  storms  of  fate, 
And  greatly  falling  with  a  falling  state. 
While  Cato  gives  his  little  senate  laws, 
What  bosom  beats  not  in  his  country's  cause  ? 
Who  sees  him  act,  but  envies  every  deed  ? 
Who  hears  him  groan,  and  does  not  wish  to  bleed  ? 
E'en  when  proud  Caesar,  'midst  triumphal  cars, 
The  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  pomp  of  wars, 
Ignobly  vain,  and  impotently  great, 
Show'd  Rome  her  Gate's  figure  drawn  in  state  ; 
As  her  dead  father's  reverend  image  pass'd, 
The  pomp  was  darken'd,  and  the  day  o'ercast; 
The  triumph  ceased,  tears  gush'd  from  every  eye ; 
The  world's  great  victor  pass'd  unheeded  by  : 
Her  last  good  man  dejected  Rome  adored, 
And  honour'd  Caesar's  less  than  Cato's  sword. 

Britons,  attend  :  be  worth  like  this  approved. 
And  show,  you  have  the  virtue  to  be  moved. 
With  honest  scorn  the  first  famed  Cato  view'd 
Rome  learning  arts  from  Greece,  whom  she  subdued 


122          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Your  scene  preeariously  subsists  too  long 
On  French  translation  and  Italian  song  : 
Dare  to  have  sense  yourselves  ;  assert  the  stage, 
Be  justly  warm'd  with  your  own  native  rage: 
Such  plays  alone  should  win  a  British  ear, 
As  Cato's  self  had  not  disdain'd  to  hear. 


EPILOGUE 

TO  MR.  ROWE'S  JANE  SHORE. 

Designed  for  Mrs.  Oldfield. 
PRODIGIOUS  this!  the  frail-one  of  our  play 
From  her  own  sex  should  mercy  find  to-day  ! 
You  might  have  held  the  pretty  head  aside, 
Peep'd  in  your  fans,  been  serious,  thus,  and  cried, 
'  The  play  may  pass — but  that  strange  creature  Shore 
I  can't — indeed  now — I  so  hate  a  whore  !' — 
Just  as  a  blockhead  rubs  his  thoughtless  skull, 
And  thanks  his  stars  he  was  not  born  a  fool ; 
So  from  a  sister  sinner  you  shall  hear, 
'  How  strangely  you  expose  yourself  my  dear  !' 
But  let  me  die,  all  raillery  apart, 
Our  sex  are  still  forgiving  at  their  heart ; 
And  did  not  wicked  custom  so  contrive, 
We'd  be  the  best,  good-natured  things  alive. 

There  are,  'tis  true,  who  tell  another  tale, 
That  virtuous  ladies  envy  while  they  rail ; 
Such  rage  without  betrays  the  fire  within  ; 
»n  some  close  corner  of  the  soul,  they  sin  ; 
Still  hoarding  up,  most  scandalously  nice, 
Amidst  their  virtues  a  reserve  of  vice. 
The  godly  dame,  who  fleshly  failings  damns, 
Scolds  with  her  maid,  or  with  her  chaplain  crams  : 
Would  you  enjoy  soft  nights  and  solid  dinners? 
Faith,  gallants, board  with  saints,  and  bed  with  sinners 

Well,  if  our  author  in  the  wife  offends, 
He  has  a  husband  that  will  make  amends  : 


SAPPHO  TO  PHAON.  133 

He  draws  him  gentle,  tender,  and  forgiving, 
And  sure  such  kind  good  creatures  may  be  living 
In  days  of  old  they  pardon'd  breach  of  vows; 
Stern  Cato's  self  was  no  relentless  spouse  : 
Plu — Plutaroh,  what's  his  name,  that  writes  his  life  * 
Tells  us,  that  Cato  dearly  loved  his  wife  : 
Yet  if  a  friend,  a  night  or  so,  should  need  her, 
He'd  recommend  her  as  a  special  breeder. 
To  lend  a  wife,  few  here  would  scruple  make ; 
But,  pray,  which  of  you  all  would  take  her  back? 
Though  with  the  stoic  chief  our  stage  may  ring, 
The  stoic  husband  was  the  glorious  thing. 
The  man  had  courage,  was  a  sage,  'tis  true, 
And  loved  his  country — but  what's  that  to  you  ? 
Those  strange  examples  ne'er  were  made  to  fit  ye, 
But  the  kind  cuckold  might  instruct  the  city. 
There  many  an  honest  man  may  copy  Cato, 
Who  ne'er  saw  naked  sword,  or  look'd  in  Plato. 

If,  after  all,  you  think  it  a  disgrace, 
That  Edward's  miss  thus  perks  it  in  your  face  ; 
To  see  a  piece  of  failing  flesh  and  blood, 
In  all  the  rest  so  impudently  good  ; 
Faith,  let  the  modest  matrons  of  the  town 
Come  here  in  crowds,  and  stare  the  strumpet  down. 


SAPPHO  TO  PHAON. 

From  the  ffteenth  of  Ovid's  Epistles. 

ARGUMENT. 

Phaon,  a  youth  of  exquisite  beauty,  was  deeply  ena 
moured  of  Sappho,  a  lady  of  Lesbos,  from  whom  lie  met 
with  the  tenderest  returns  of  passion  :  but  his  affec 
tion  afterwards  d«caying,  he  left  her  and  sailed  for 
Sicily.  She,  unable  to  bear  the  loss  of  her  lover, 
hearkened  to  all  the  mad  suggestions  of  despair;  and 
•eeing  no  other  remedy  for  her  present  miseries,  re 
solved  to  throw  herself  into  the  sea,  from  Leucate,  a 
promontory  of  Epinis,  which  was  thought  a  cure  in 


124          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

cast,s  of  obstinate  love,  and  therefore  had  obtained  the 
name  of  the  Lover's  Leap.    But  before  she  ventured 
upon  this  last  step,  entertaining  still  some  fond  hopes 
that  she  might  reclaim  her  inconstant,  she  wrote  him 
this  epistle,  in  which  she  gives  him  a  strong  picture 
of  her  distress  and  misery,  occasioned  by  his  absence : 
and  endeavours   by  all  the  artful  insinuations   and 
moving  expressions  she  is  mistress  of,  to  sooth  him  to 
softness  and  mutual  feeling.    (ANON.) 
SAY,  lovely  youth,  that  dost  my  heart  command, 
Can  Phaon's  eyes  forget  his  Sappho's  hand  ? 
Must  then  her  name  the  wretched  writer  prove, 
To  thy  remembrance  lost,  as  to  thy  love  ? 
Ask  not  the  cause  that  I  new  numbers  choose, 
The  lute  neglected,  and  the  Lyric  Muse. 
Love  taught  my  tears  in  sadder  notes  to  flow, 
And  tuned  my  heart  to  elegies  of  woe. 
I  burn,  1  burn,  as  when  through  ripen'd  corn 
By  driving  winds  tho  spreading  flames  are  borne. 
Phaon  to  Etna's  scorching  fields  retires, 
While  I  consume  with  more  than  Etna's  fires  ! 
No  more  my  soul  a  charm  in  music  finds, 
Music  has  charms  alone  for  peaceful  minds : 
Soft  scenes  of  solitude  no  more  can  please, 
Love  enters  there,  and  I'm  my  own  disease. 
No  more  the  Lesbian  dames  my  passion  move, 
Once  the  dear  objects  of  my  guilty  love  ; 
All  other  loves  are  lost  in  only  thine, 
Ah,  youth  ungrateful  to  a  flame  like  mine  ! 
Whom  would  not  all  those  blooming  charms  surprise, 
Those  heavenly  looks,  and  dear  deluding  eyes  ? 
The  harp  and  bow  would  you  like  Phoebus  bear, 
A  brighter  Phoebus  Phaon  might  appear  ; 
Would  you  with  ivy  wreathe  your  flowing  hair, 
Not  Bacchus'  self  with  Phaon  could  compare : 
Yet  Phoebus  loved,  and  Bacchus  felt  the  flame, 
One  Daphne  warm'd,  and  one  the  Cretan  dame ; 
Nymphs  that  in  verse  no  more  could  rival  me, 
Than  e'en  those  gods  contend  in  charms  with  thea 


SAPPHO  TO  PHAON.  125 

The  muses  teach  me  all  their  softest  lays, 

And  the  wide  world  resounds  with  Sappho's  praise 

Though  great  Aldus  more  sublimely  sings, 

And  strikes  with  bolder  rage  the  sounding  strings, 

No  less  renown  attends  thfe  moving  lyre, 

Which  Venus  tunes,  and  all  her  loves  inspire ; 

To  me  what  nature  has  in  charms  denied, 

Is  well  by  wit's  more  lasting  flames  supplied. 

Though  short  my  stature,  yet  my  name  extends 

To  heaven  itself,  and  earth's  remotest  ends. 

Brown  as  I  am,  an  Ethiopian  dame 

Inspired  young  Perseus  with  a  generous  flame ; 

Turtles  and  doves  of  different  hues  unite, 

And  glossy  jet  is  pair'd  with  shining  white. 

If  to  no  charms  thou  wilt  thy  heart  resign, 

But  such  as  merit,  such  as  equal  thine, 

By  none,  alas !  by  none  thou  canst  be  moved  : 

Phaon  alone  by  Phaon  must  be  loved  ! 

Yet  once  thy  Sappho  could  thy  cares  employ ; 

Once  in  her  arms  you  centred  all  your  joy  : 

No  time  the  dear  remembrance  can  remove, 

For,  oh  !  how  vast  a  memory  has  love  ! 

My  music,  then  you  could  for  ever  hear, 

And  all  my  words  were  music  to  your  ear 

You  stopp'd  with  kisses  my  enchanting  tongue, 

And  found  my  kisses  sweeter  than  my  song. 

In  all  I  pleased,  but  most  in  what  was  best ; 

And  the  last  joy  was  dearer  than  the  rest. 

Then  with  each  word,  each  glance,  each  motion  fired, 

You  still  enjoy'd,  and  yet  you  still  desired, 

Till  all  dissolving  in  the  trance  we  lay, 

And  in  tumultuous  raptures  died  away. 

The  fair  Sicilians  now  thy  soul  inflame  : 

Why  was  I  born,  ye  gods  !  a  Lesbian  dame  ? 

But  ah,  beware,  Sicilian  nymphs  !  nor  boast 

That  wandering  heart  which  I  so  lately  lost ; 

Nor  be  with  all  those  tempting  words  abused, 

Those  tempting  words  were  all  to  Sappho  used 


126         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

And  you  that  rule  Sicilia's  happy  plains, 

Have  pity,  Venus,  on  your  poet's  pains! 

Shall  fortune  still  in  one  sad  tenor  run, 

And  still  increase  the  woes  so  soon  begun  ? 

Inured  to  sorrow  from  my"tender  years, 

My  parent's  ashes  drank  my  early  tears  : 

My  brother  next,  neglecting  wealth  and  fame, 

Ignobly,  burn'd  in  a  destructive  flame  ; 

An  infant  daughter  late  my  griefs  increased, 

And  all  a  mother's  cares  distract  my  breast. 

Alas  !  what  more  could  fate  itself  impose, 

But  thee,  the  last  and  greatest  of  my  woes  ? 

No  more  my  robes  in  waving  purple  flow, 

Nor  on  my  hand  the  sparkling  diamonds  glow  ; 

No  more  my  locks,  in  ringlets  curl'd,  diffuse 

The  costly  sweetness  of  Arabian  dews  ; 

Nor  braids  of  gold  the  varied  tresses  bind, 

That  fly  disorder'd  with  the  wanton  wind  : 

For  whom  should  Sappho  use  such  arts  as  these  ? 

He's  gone,  whom  only  she  desired  to  please  ! 

Cupid's  light  darts  my  tender  bosom  move, 

Still  is  there  cause  for  Sappho  still  to  love : 

So  from  my  birth  the  Sisters  fix'd  my  doom, 

And  gave  to  Venus  all  my  life  to  come  ; 

Or,  while  my  muse  in  melting  notes  complains, 

My  yielding  heart  keeps  measure  to  my  strains. 

By  charms  like  thine,  which  all  my  soul  have  won, 

Who  might  not — ah  !  who  would  not  be  undone  ? 

For  those  Aurora  Cephalus  might  scorn, 

And  with  fresh  blushes  paint  the  conscious  morn  : 

For  those  might  Cynthia  lengthen  Phaon's  sleep, 

And  bid  Endymion  nightly  tend  his  sheep  : 

Venus  for  those  had  rapt  thee  to  the  skies, 

But  Mars  on  thee  might  look  with  Venus'  eyes. 

O  scarce  a  youth,  yet  scarce  a  tender  boy  ! 

O  useful  time  for  lovers  to  employ  ! 

Pride  of  thy  age  and  glory  of  thy  race, 

Come  to  these  arms,  and  melt  in  this  embrace  I 


SAPPHO  TO  PHAON.  187 

The  vows  you  never  will  return,  receive  ; 
And  take  at  least  the  love  you  will  not  give. 
See,  while  I  wrice,  my  words  are  lost  in  tears ! 
The  less  my  sense,  the  more  my  love  appears. 
Sure  'twas  not  much  to  bid  one  kind  adieu ; 
(At  least  to  feign  was  never  hard  to  you  !) 
Farewell,  my  Lesbian  love,'  you  might  have  said  ; 
Or  coldly  thus, '  Farewell,  oh  Lesbian  maid  !' 
No  tear  did  you,  no  parting  kiss  receive. 
Nor  knew  I  then  how  much  I  was  to  grieve. 
No  lover's  gift  your  Sappho  could  confer, 
And  wrongs  and  woes  were  all  you  left  with  her. 
No  charge  I  gave  you,  and  no  charge  could  give, 
But  this, '  Be  mindful  of  our  loves,  and  live.' 
Now  by  the  Nine,  those  powers  adored  by  me, 
And  Love,  the  god  that  ever  waits  on  thee, 
When  first  I  heard  (from  whom  I  hardly  knew) 
That  you  were  fled,  and  all  my  joys  with  you, 
Like  some  sad  statue,  speechless,  pale  I  stood, 
Grief  chill'd  my  breast,  and  stopp'd  my  freezing  bl(  od 
No  sigh  to  rise,  no  tear  had  power  to  flow, 
Fix'd  in  a  stupid  lethargy  of  wo  : 
But  when  its  way  the  impetuous  passion  found, 
I  rend  my  tresses,  and  my  breast  I  wound ; 
I  rave  ;  then  weep  ;  I  curse,  and  then  complain  : 
Now  swell  to  rage,  now  melt  in  tears  again. 
Not  fiercer  pangs  distract  the  mournful  dame, 
Whose  first-born  infant  feeds  the  funeral  flame. 
My  scornful  brother  with  a  smile  appears, 
Insults  my  woes,  and  triumphs  in  my  tears  : 
His  hated  image  ever  haunts  my  eyes  ; 
'  And  why  this  grief?  thy  daughter  lives,'  he  cries. 
Stung  with  my  love,  and  furious  with  despair, 
All  torn  my  garments,  and  my  bosom  bare, 
My  woes,  thy  crimes,  I  to  the  world  proclaim : 
Such  inconsistent  things  are  love  and  shame ! 
'Tis  thou  art  all  my  cate  and  my  delight, 
My  daily  longing,  and  my  dream  by  night. 


128         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

0  night,  more  pleasing  than  the  brightest  day, 
When  fancy  gives  what  absence  takes  away, 
And  dress'd  in  all  its  visionary  charms, 
Restores  my  fair  deserter  to  my  arms  ! 

Then  round  your  neck  in  wanton  wreaths  I  twine ; 

Then  you,  methinks,  as  fondly  circle  mine  : 

A  thousand  tender  words  I  hear  and  speak; 

A  thousand  melting  kisses  give  and  take : 

Then  fiercer  joys  :  I  blush  to  mention  these, 

Yet,  while  I  blush,  confess  how  much  they  pleaso. 

But  when,  with  day,  the  sweet  delusions  fly, 

And  all  things  wake  to  life  and  joy,  but  I ; 

As  if  once  more  forsaken,  I  complain, 

And  close  my  eyes  to  dream  of  you  again ; 

Then  frantic  rise,  and  like  some  fury  rove 

Through  lonely  plains,  and  through  the  silent  grove : 

As  if  the  silent  grove,  and  lonely  plains, 

That  knew  my  pleasures,  could  relieve  my  pains. 

1  view  the  grotto,  once  the  scene  of  love, 
The  rocks  around,  the  hanging  roofs  above, 

That  charm'd  me  more,  with  native  moss  o'ergrowft 

Than  Phrygian  marble,  or  the  Parian  stone. 

I  find  the  shades  that  veil'd  our  joys  before  ! 

But,  Phuon  gone,  those  shades  delight  no  more. 

Here  the  press'd  herbs  with  bending  tops  betray 

Where  oft  entwined  in  amorous  folds  we  lay  ; 

I  kiss  that  earth  which  once  was  press'd  by  you, 

And  all  with  tears  the  withering  herbs  bedew. 

For  thee  the  fading  trees  appear  to  mourn, 

And  birds  defer  their  songs  till  thy  return  • 

Night  shades  the  grove,  and  all  in  silence  lie, 

All  but  the  mournful  Philomel  and  I : 

With  mournful  Philomel  I  join  my  strain, 

Of  Tereus  she,  of  Phaon  I  complain. 

A  spring  there  is,  whose  silver  waters  show, 
dear  as  a  glass,  the  shining  sands  below  ; 
A  flowery  lotos  spreads  its  arms  above, 
Shades  all  the  banks,  and  seems  itself  a  grove : 


SAPPHO  TO  PHAON.  12S 

Eternal  greens  the  mossy  margin  grace, 
Watch'd  by  the  sylvan  genius  of  the  place. 
Here  as  I  lay,  and  swell'd  with  tears  the  flood, 
Before  my  sight  a  watery  virgin  stood : 
She  stood  and  cried, '  O  you  that  love  in  vain ; 
Fly  hence,  and  seek  the  fair  Leucadian  main : 
There  stands  a  rock,  from  whose  impending  steep 
Apollo's  fane  surveys  the  rolling  deep  ; 
There  injured  lovers,  leaping  from  above, 
Their  flames  extinguish,  and  forget  to  love. 
Deucalion  once  with  hopeless  fury  burn'd, 
In  vain  he  loved  :  relentless  Pyrrha  scorn'd  : 
But  when  from  hence  he  plunged  into  the  main, 
Deucalion  scorn'd,  and  Pyrrha  loved  in  vain. 
Haste,  Sappho,  haste,  from  high  Leucadia  throw 
Thy  wretched  weight,  nor  dread  the  deeps  below  ! 

She  spoke,  and  vanish'd  with  the  voice — I  rise, 
And  silent  tears  fall  trickling  from  my  eyes. 
I  go,  ye  nymphs !  those  rocks  and  seas  to  prove ; 
How  much  I  fear,  but  ah,  how  much  I  love  ! 
I  go,  ye  nymphs  !  where  furious  love  inspires ; 
Let  female  fears  submit  to  female  fires. 
To  rocks  and  seas  Lfly  from  Phaon's  hate, 
And  hope  from  seas  and  rocks  a  milder  fate. 
Ye  gentle  gales,  beneath  my  body  blow, 
And  softly  lay  me  on  the  waves  below  ! 
And  thou,  kind  Love,  my  sinking  limbs  sustain, 
Spread  thy  soft  wings,  and  waft  me  o'er  the  main, 
Nor  let  a  lover's  death  the  guiltless  flood  profane ! 
On  Phoebus'  shrine  my  harp  I'll  then  bestow, 
And  this  inscription  shall  be  plac'd  below ; 
'  Here  she  who  sung,  to  him  who  did  inspire, 
Sappho  to  Phoebus  consecrates  her  lyre ; 
What  suits  with  Sappho,  Phoebus,  suits  with  thee, 
The  gift,  the  giver,  and  the  god  agree.' 

But  why,  alas !  relentless  youth,  ah  why 
To  distant  seas  must  tender  Sappho  fly? 
9 


130         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Thy  charms  than  those  may  far  more  powerful  bo, 

And  Phoebus'  self  is  less  a  god  to  me. 

Ah  !  canst  thou  doom  me  to  the  rocks  and  sea, 

O  far  more  faithless,  «nd  more  hard  than  they  ? 

Ah !  canst  thou  rather  see  this  tender  breast 

Dash'd  on  these  rocks,  than  to  thy  bosom  press'd  ? 

This  breast,  which  once,  in  vain  !  you  liked  so  well ; 

Where  the  loves  play'd,  and  where  the  muses  dwell 

Alas  !  the  muses  now  no  more  inspire ; 

Untuned  my  lute,  and  silent  is  my  lyre  ; 

My  languid  numbers  have  forgot  to  flow, 

And  fancy  sinks  beneath  a  weight  of  wo. 

Yc  Lesbian  virgins,  and  ye  Lesbian  danjes, 

Themes  of  my  verse,  and  objects  of  my  flames, 

No  more  your  groves  with  my  glad  songs  shall  ring, 

No  more  these  hands  shall  touch  the  tremblingstringi 

My  Phaon  's  fled,  and  I  those  arts  resign, 

f  Wretch  that  I  am,  to  call  that  Phaon  mine  !) 

Return,  fair  youth,  return,  and  bring  along 

Joy  to  my  soul,  and  vigour  to  my  song : 

Absent  from  thee,  the  poet's  flame  expires  ; 

But  ah  !  how  fiercely  bum  the  lover's  fires ! 

Gods  !  can  no  prayers,  no  sighs,  no  numbers  move 

One  savage  heart,  or  teach  it  how  to  love? 

The  winds  my  prayers,  my  sighs,  my  numbers  bear 

The  flying  winds  have  lost  them  all  in  air ! 

Oh  when,  alas  !  shall  more  auspicious  gales 

To  these  fond  eyes  restore  thy  welcome  sails  ? 

If  you  return — ah,  why  these  long  delays? 

Poor  Sappho  dies  while  careless  Phaon  stays. 

O,  launch  thy  bark,  nor  fear  the  watery  plain ; 

Venus  for  thee  shall  smooth  her  native  main. 

O,  launch  thy  bark,  secure  of  prosperous  gales 

Cupid  for  thee  shall  spread  the  swelling  sails. 

If  you  will  fly — (yet  ah !  what  cause  can  be, 

Too  cruel  youth,  that  you  should  fly  from  me  ?) 

If  not  from  Phaon  I  must  hope  for  ease, 

Ah  let  me  seek  it  from  the  raging  seas  : 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD. 

To  raging  seas  unpitied  I'll  remove, 
And  either  cease  to  live,  or  cease  to  love  ! 


131 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD. 


ARGUMENT. 

/*belard  and  Eloisa  flourished  in  the  twelfth  century; 
they  were  two  of  the  most  distinguished  persons  of 
their  age  in  learning  and  beauty,  hut  for  nothing 
more  famous  than  for  their  unfortunate  passion. 
After  a  long  course  of  calamities  they  retired  each  to 
a  several  convent,  and  consecrated  the  remainder  of 
their  days  to  religion.  It  was  many  years  after  this 
separation,  that  a  letter  of  Abelard's  to  a  friend 
which  contained  the  history  of  his  misfortune,  fell 
into  the  hands  of  Eloisa.  This  awakening  all  her 
tenderness,  occasioned  those  celebrated  letters  (out  of 
which  the  following  is  partly  extracted)  which  give  sc 
lively  a  picture  of  the  struggles  of  grace  and  nature 
virtue  and  passion. 

IN  these  deep  solitudes  and  awful  c%lls, 
Where  heavenly-pensive  contemplation  dwells, 
And  ever-musing  melancholy  reigns, 
What  means  this  tumult  in  a  vestal's  veins  ? 
Why  rove  my  thoughts  beyond  this  last  retreat  ? 
Why  feels  my  heart  its  long-forgotten  heat  ? 
\~et,  yet  I  love  ! — From  Abelard  it  came, 
And  EloYsa  yet  must  kiss  the  name. 

Dear  i'atal  name  !  rest  ever  unreveal'd, 
Nor  pass  these  lips,  in  holy  silence  seal'd  : 
Hide  it,  my  heart,  within  that  close  disguise, 
Where,  mix'd  with  God's,  his  loved  idea  lies : 
O,  write  it  not,  my  hand — the  name  appears 
Already  written — wash  it  out,  my  tears  ! 
In  vain  lost  EloYsa  weeps  and  prays ; 
Her  heart  still  dictates,  and  her  hand  obeys. 


132         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Relentless  walls  !  whose  darksome  round  contain! 
Repentant  sighs,  and  voluntary  pains  : 
Ye  rugged  rocks  !  which  holy  knees  have  worn  ; 
Ye  grots  and  caverns  shagg'd  with  horrid  thorn  ; 
Shrines  !  where  their  vigils  pale-eyed  virgins  keep ; 
And  pitying  saints,  whose  statues  learn  to  weep ; 
Though  cold  like  you,  unmoved  and  silent  grown, 
I  have  not  yet  forgot  myself  to  stone. 
All  is  not  Heaven's  while  Abelard  has  part : 
Still  rebel  nature  holds  out  half  my  heart ; 
Nor  prayers  nor  fasts  its  stubborn  pulse  restrain, 
Nor  tears  for  ages  taught  to  flow  in  vain. 

Soon  as  thy  letters  trembling  I  unclose, 
That  well-known  name  awakens  all  my  woes  ; 
Oh,  name  for  ever  sad  !  for  ever  dear  ! 
Still  breathed  in  sighs,  still  usher'd  with  a  tear. 
I  tremble  too,  where'er  my  own  I  find, 
Some  dire  misfortune  follows  close  behind. 
Line  after  line  my  gushing  eyes  o'erflow, 
Led  through  a  sad  variety  of  wo : 
Now  warm  in  love,  now  withering  in  my  bloom, 
Lost  in  a  convent's  solitary  gloom  ! 
There  stern  region  quench'd  the  unwilling  flame  i 
There  died  the  best  of  passions,  love  and  fame 

Yet  write,  oh  write  me  all,  that  I  may  join 
Griefs  to  thy  griefs,  and  echo  sighs  to  thine. 
Nor  foes  nor  fortune  take  this  power  away  ; 
And  is  my  Abelard  less  kind  than  they  ? 
Tears  still  are  mine,  and  those  I  need  not  spare ; 
Love  but  demands  what  else  were  shed  in  prayer; 
No  happier  task  these  faded  eyes  pursue ; 
To  read  and  weep  is  all  they  now  can  do. 

Then  share  thy  pain,  allow  that  sad  relief: 
Ah,  more  than  share  it,  give  me  all  thy  grief. 
Heaven  first  taught  letters  for  some  wretch's  aid, 
Some'banish'd  lover,  or  some  captive  maid ; 
They  live,  they  speak,  they  breathe  what  love  inspire*, 
Warm  from  the  soul,  and  faithful  to  its  fires, 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD.  13S 

The  virgin's  wish  without  her  fears  impart, 
Excuse  the  blush,  and  pour  out  all  the  heart, 
Speed  the  soft  intercourse  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  waft  a  sigh  from  Indus  to  the  pole  ! 

Thou  know'st  how  guiltless  first  I  met  thy  flame, 
When  love  approach'd  me  under  friendship's  name. 
My  fancy  form'd  thee  of  angelic  kind, 
Some  emanation  of  the  All-beauteous  Mind, 
Those  smiling  eyes,  attempering  every  ray, 
Shone  sweetly  lambent  with  celestial  day. 
Guiltless  I  gazed :  Heaven  listen'd  while  you  sung, 
And  truths  divine  came  mended  from  that  tongue. 
From  lips  like  those  what  precept  fail'd  to  move  ? 
Too  soon  they  taught  me  'twas  no  sin  to  love  : 
Back  through  the  paths  of  pleasing  sense  I  ran, 
Nor  wish'd  an  angel  whom  I  loved  a  man. 
Dim  and  remote  the  joys  of  saints  I  see, 
Nor  envy  them  that  heaven  I  lose  for  thee. 

How  oft,  when  press'd  to  marriage,  have  I  said ; 
Curse  on  all  laws  but  those  which  love  has  made ! 
Love,  free  as  air,  at  sight  of  human  ties, 
Spreads  his  light  wings,  and  in  a  moment  flies. 
Let  wealth,  let  honour,  wait  the  wedded  dame, 
August  her  deed,  and  sacred  be  her  fame  ; 
Before  true  passion  all  those  views  remove  ; 
Fame,  wealth,  and  honour  !  what  are  you  to  love  * 
The  jealous  god,  when  we  profane  his  fires, 
Those  restless  passions  in  revenge  inspires, 
And  bids  them  make  mistaken  mortals  groan, 
Who  seek  in  love  for  aught  but  love  alone. 
Should  at  my  feet  the  world's  great  master  fall, 
Himself,  his  throne,  his  world,  I'd  scorn  them  all : 
Not  Caesar's  empress  would  I  deign  to  prove  ; 
Nojtnake  me  mistress  to  the  man  1  love. 
If  there  be  yet  another  name  more  free, 
More  fond  than  mistress,  make  me  that  to  thee  ! 
Oh,  happy  state  !  when  souls  each  other  draw, 
When  love  is  liberty,  and  nature  law  ; 


134         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

All  then  is  full,  possessing  and  possess'd, 

No  craving  void  left  aching  in  the  breast : 

E'en  thought  meets  thought,  ere  from  the  lips  it  part, 

And  each  warm  wish  springs  mutual  from  tho  heart. 

This  sure  is  bliss  (if  bliss  on  earth  there  be) 

And  once  the  lot  of  Abelard  and  me. 

Alas,  how  changed  !  what  sudden  horrors  rise  ! 
A  naked  lover  bound  and  bleeding  lies  ! 
Where,  where  was  EloYse  ?  her  voice,  her  hand, 
Ha"  poniard  had  opposed  the  dire  command. 
Barbarian,  stay  !  that  bloody  stroke  restrain  : 
The  crime  was  common,  common  be  the  pain 
I  can  no  more;  by  shame,  by  rage  suppress'd, 
Let  tears  and  burning  blushes  speak  the  rest. 

Canst  thou  forget  that  sad,  that  solemn  day, 
When  victims  at  yon  altar's  foot  we  lay  ? 
Canst  thou  forget  what  tears  that  moment  fell, 
When,  warm  in  youth,  I  bade  the  world  farewell  7 
As  with  cold  lips  I  kiss'd  the  sacred  veil, 
The  shrines  all  trembled,  and  the  lamps  grew  pale  , 
Heaven  scarce  believed  the  conquest  it  survey'd, 
And  saints  with  wonder  heard  the  vows  I  made. 
Yet  then,  to  those  dread  altars  as  I  drew, 
Not  on  the  cross  my  eyes  were  fix'd,  but  you  : 
Not  grace,  or  zeal,  love  only  was  my  call ; 
And  if  I  lose  thy  love,  I  lose  my  all. 
Come,  with  thy  looks,  thy  words,  relieve  my  woe  , 
Those  still  at  least  are  left  thee  to  bestow. 
Still  on  that  breast  enamour'd  let  me  lie, 
Still  drink  delicious  poison  from  thy  eye, 
Pant  on  thy  lip,  and  to  thy  heart  be  press'd  ; 
Give  all  thou  canst — and  let  me  dream  the  rest. 
Ah,  no!  instruct  me  other  joys  to  prize, 
With  otner  beauties  charm  my  partial  eyes  : 
Full  in  my  view  set  all  the  bright  abode, 
And  make  my  soul  quit  Abelard  for  God. 

Ah  !  think  at  least  thy  flock  deserves  thy  care, 
Plants  of  thy  hand,  and  children  of  thy  prayer. 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD. 


135 


From  the  false  world  in  early  youth  they  fled, 

By  thee  to  mountains,  wilds,  and  deserts  led, 

You  raised  these  hallow'd  walls  ;  the  desert  smiled 

And  paradise  was  open'd  in  the  wild. 

No  weeping  orphan  saw  his  father's  stores 

Our  shrines  irradiate,  or  emblaze  the  floors ; 

No  silver  saints,  by  dying  misers  given, 

Here  bribe  the  rage  of  ill-requited  Heaven  ; 

But  such  plain  roofs  as  piety  could  raise, 

And  only  vocal  with  the  Maker's  praise. 

In  these  lone  walls  (their  day's  eternal  bound) 

These  moss-grown  domes  with  spiry  turrets  crown  4 

Where  awful  arches  make  a  noon-day  night, 

And  the  dim  windows  shed  a  solemn  light, 

Thy  eyes  diffused  a  reconciling  ray, 

And  gleams  of  glory  brighten'd  all  the  day: 

But  now  no  face  divine  contentment  wears ; 

'Tis  all  blank  sadness,  or  continual  tears. 

See  how  the  force  of  others'  prayers  I  try, 

(Oh  pious  fraud  of  amorous  charity !) 

But  why  should  I  on  others'  prayers  depend  ? 

Come  thou,  my  father,  brother,  husband,  friend  ! 

Ah,  let  thy  handmaid,  sister,  daughter,  m9ve, 

And  all  those  tender  names  in  one,  thy  love  ! 

The  darksome  pines  that  o'er  yon  rocks  reclined, 

Wave  high,  and  murmur  to  the  hollow  wind, 

The  wandering  streams  that  shine  between  the  hill^ 

The  grots  that  echo  to  the  tinkling  rills, 

The  dying  gales  that  pant  upon  the  trees, 

The  lakes  that  quiver  to  the  curling  breeze ; 

No  more  these  scenes  my  meditation  aid, 

Or  lull  to  rest  the  visionary  maid  : 

But  o'er  the  twilight  groves  and  dusky  caves, 

Long-sounding  aisles,  and  intermingled  giuvea. 

Black  melancholy  sits,  and  round  her  throws 

A  death-like  silence,  and  a  dread  repose  ; 

Her  gloomy  presence  saddens  all  the  scene, 

Shades  every  flower,  and  darkens  every  green, 


136          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Deepens  the  murmur  of  the  falling  floods, 
And  breathes  a  browner  horror  on  the  woods. 

Yet  here  for  ever,  ever  must  I  stay  ; 
Sad  proof  how  well  a  lover  can  obey  ! 
Death,  only  death,  can  break  the  lasting  chain ; 
And  here,  e'en  then,  shall  my  cold  dust  remain ; 
Here  all  its  frailties,  all  its  flames  resign, 
And  wait  till  'tis  no  sin  to  mix  with  thine. 

Ah,  wretch  !  believed  the  spouse  of  God  in  rain, 
Confess'd  within  the  slave  of  love  and  man. 
Assist  me,  Heaven !  but  whence  arose  that  prayer  ? 
Sprung  it  from  piety,  or  from  despair? 
E'en  here,  where  frozen  chastity  retires, 
Love  finds  an  altar  for  forbidden  tires. 
I  ought  to  grieve,  but  cannot  what  I  ought; 
I  mourn  the  lover,  not  lament  the  fault ; 
I  view  my  crime,  but  kindle  at  the  view, 
Repent  old  pleasures,  and  solicit  new ; 
Now  turn'd  to  heaven,  I  weep  my  past  offence, 
Now  think  of  thce,  and  curse  my  innocence 
Of  all  affliction  taught  a  lover  yet, 
'Tis  sure  the  hardest  science  to  forget . 
How  shall  I  lose  the  sin,  yet  keep  the  sense, 
And  love  the  offender,  yet  detest  the  offence  ? 
How  the  dear  object  from  the  crime  remove, 
Or  how  distinguish  penitence  from  love? 
Unequal  task  !  a  passion  to  resign, 
For  hearts  so  touch'd,  so  pierced,  so  lost  as  mine  . 
Ere  such  a  soul  regains  its  peaceful  state, 
How  often  must  it  love,  how  often  hate  ! 
How  often  hope,  despair,  resent,  regret, 
Conceal,  disdain — do  all  things  but  forget ! 
But  let  heaven  seize  it,  all  at  once  'tis  fired : 
Not  touch'd,  but  rapt ;  not  waken'd,  but  inspired  ! 
Oh  come  !  oh  teach  me  nature  to  subdue, 
Renounce  my  love,  my  life,  myself— and  you. 
Fill  my  fond  heart  with  God  alone,  for  he 
Alone  can  rival,  can  succeed  to  thee. 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD.  137 

.flow  happy  is  the  blameless  vestal's  lot ; 
The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot ! 
Eternal  sun-shine  of  the  spotless  mind  ; 
Each  prayer  accepted,  and  each  wish  resign1  d 
Labour  and  rest  that  equal  periods  keep  ; 
Obedient  slumbers  that  can  wake  and  weep , 
Desires  composed,  affections  ever  even  ; 
Tears  that  delight  and  sighs  that  waft  to  heaven. 
Grace  shines  around  her  with  serenest  beams, 
And  whispering  angels  prompt  her  golden  dreams ; 
For  her  the  unlading  rose  of  Eden  blooms, 
And  wings  of  seraphs  shed  divine  perfumes  ; 
For  her  the  spouse  prepares  the  bridal  ring; 
For  her  white  virgins  hymenaeals  sing  ; 
To  sounds  of  heavenly  harps  she  dies  away, 
And  melts  in  visions  of  eternal  day. 

Far  other  dreams  my  erring  soul  employ, 
Far  other  raptures  of  unholy  joy  : 
When,  at  the  close  of  each  sad  sorrowing  day, 
Fancy  restores  what  vengeance  snatch'd  away, 
Then  conscience  sleeps,  and  leaving  nature  free, 
All  my  loose  soul  unbounded  springs  to  thee. 

0  curst,  dear  horrors  of  all-conscious  night ! 
How  glowing  guilt  exalts  the  keen  delight ! 
Provoking  demons  all  restraint  remove, 
And  stir  within  me  every  source  of  love. 

1  hear  thee,  view  thee,  gaze  o'er  all  thy  charms, 
And  round  thy  phantom  glue  my  clasping  arms. 
I  wake: — no  more  I  hear,  no  more  I  view, 
The  phantom  flies  me,  as  unkind  as  you. 

I  call  aloud  ;  it  hears  not  what  I  say : 

I  stretch  my  empty  arms  ;  it  glides  away. 

To  dream  once  more,  I  close  my  willing  eyes : 

Ye  soft  illusions,  dear  deceits,  arise ! 

Alas,  no  more  !  methinks  we  wandering  go 

Through  dreary  wastes,  and  weep  each  other's  woe, 

Where  round  some  mouldering  tower  pale  ivy  creepy 

And  low-brow'd  rocks  hang  nodding  o'er  the  deeps. 


138 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Sudden  you  mount,  you  beckon  from  the  skies , 
Clouds  interpose,  waves  roar,  and  winds  arise. 
I  shriek,  start  up,  the  same  sad  prospect  find, 
And  wake  to  all  the  griefs  I  left  behind. 

For  thee  the  Fates,  severely  kind,  ordain 
A  cool  suspense  from  pleasure  and  from  pain ; 
Thy  life  a  long  dead  cairn  of  fix'd  repose  ; 
No  pulse  that  riots,  and  no  blood  that  glows. 
Still  as  the  sea,  ere  winds  were  taught  to  blow, 
Or  moving  spirit  bade  the  waters  flow  ; 
Soft  as  the  slumbers  of  a  saint  forgiven, 
And  rnild  as  opening  gleams  of  promised  heaven. 

Come,  Abelard  !  for  what  hast  thou  to  dread  ? 
The  torch  of  Venus  burns  not  for  the  dead. 
Nature  stands  check'd  ;  religion  disapproves  ; 
E'en  thou  art  cold — yet  Elo'isa  loves. 
Ah,  hopeless,  lasting  flames  !  like  those  that  burn 
To  light  the  dead,  and  warm  the  unfruitful  urn. 

What  scenes  appear  where'er  I  turn  my  view  ! 
The  dear  ideas,  where  I  fly,  pursue, 
Rise  in  the  grove,  before  the  altar  rise, 
Stain  all  my  soul,  and  wanton  in  my  eyes. 
1  waste  the  matin  lamp  in  sighs  for  thee, 
Thy  image  steals  between  my  God  and  me ; 
Thy  voice  I  seem  in  every  hymn  to  hear, 
With  every  bead  I  drop  too  soft  a  tear. 
When  from  the  censer  clouds  of  fragrance  roll, 
And  swelling  organs  lift  the  rising  soul, 
One  thought  of  thee  puts  all  the  pomp  to  flight, 
Priests,  tapers,  temples,  swim  before  my  sight  • 
In  seas  of  flame  my  plunging  soul  is  drown'd, 
While  altars  blaze,  and  angels  tremble  round. 

While  prostrate  here  in  humble  grief  I  lie, 
Kind,  virtuous  drops  just  gathering  in  my  eye, 
While,  praying,  trembling,  in  the  dust  I  roll, 
And  dawning  grace  is  opening  on  my  soul : 
Come,  if  thou  darest,  all-charming  as  thou  art, 
Oppose  thyself  to  Heaven;  dispute  my  heart  • 


ELOiS.V  TO  ABELARD.  139 

Come,  with  one  glance  of  those  deluding  eyes 
Blot  out  each  bright  idea  of  the  skies  ; 
Take  back  that  grace,  those  sorrows,  and  those  tears, 
Take  back  my  fruitless  penitence  and  prayers  ; 
Snatch  me,  just  mounting,  from  the  blest  abode, 
Assist  the  fiends,  and  tear  me  from  my  God  ! 

No,  fly  me,  fly  me,  far  as  pole  from  pole ; 
Rise  Alps  between  us  !  and  whole  oceans  roll : 
Ah,  come  not,  write  not,  think  not  once  of  me, 
Nor  share  one  pang  of  all  I  felt  for  thee. 
Thy  oaths  I  quit,  thy  memory  resign  ; 
Forget,  renounce  me,  hate  whate'er  was  mine. 
Fair  eyes,  and  tempting  looks  (which  yet  I  view  !) 
Long  loved,  adored  ideas,  all  adieu  ! 
O  grace  serene  !  O  virtue  heavenly  fair  ! 
Divine  oblivion  of  low-thoughted  care! 
Fresh-blooming  hope,  gay  daughter  of  the  sky  ! 
And  faith,  our  early  immortality  ! 
Enter,  each  mild,  each  amiable  guest ; 
Receive  and  wrap  me  in  eternal  rest ! 

See  in  her  cell  sad  EloYsa  spread, 
Propp'd  on  some  tomb,  a  neighbour  of  the  dead, 
In  each  low  wind  methinks  a  spirit  calls, 
And  more  than  echoes  talk  along  the  walls. 
Here,  as  I  watch'd  the  dying  lamp  around, 
From  yonder  shrine  I  heard  a  hollow  sound: 
'  Come,  sister,  come !'  it  said,  or  seem'd  to  say, 
'  Thy  place  is  here  ;  sad  sister,  come  away  ! 
Once  like  thyself,  I  trembled,  wept,  and  pray'd, 
Love's  victim  then,  though  now  a  sainted  maid : 
But  all  is  calm  in  this  eternal  sleep ; 
Here  grief  forgets  to  groan,  and  love  to  weep : 
E'en  superstition  loses  every  fear  ; 
For  God,  not  man,  absolves  our  frailties  here.' 

I  come,  I  come  !  prepare  your  roseate  bowers, 
Celestial  palms,  and  ever-blooming  flowers  : 
Thither,  where  sinners  may  have  rest,  I  go, 
»Vhere  flames  refined  in  breasts  seraphic  glow  : 


140 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Thou,  Abelard !  the  last  sad  office  pay, 

And  smooth  my  passage  to  the  realms  of  day  : 

See  my  lips  tremble,  and  my  eye-balls  roll, 

Suck  my  last  breath,  and  catch  my  flying  soul ! 

Ah,  no — in  sacred  vestments  mayst  thou  stand, 

The  hallow'd  taper  trembling  in  thy  hand, 

Present  the  cross  before  my  lifted  eye, 

Teach  me  at  once,  and  learn  of  me  to  die. 

Ah,  then  thy  once-loved  Elo'isa  see  ! 

It  will  be  then  no  crime  to  gaze  on  me. 

See  from  rny  cheek  the  transient  roses  fly  ! 

See  the  last  sparkle  languish  in  my  eye  ! 

Till  every  motion,  pulse,  and  breath  be  o'er ; 

And  e'en  my  Abelard  be  loved  no  more. 

O  Death, all  eloquent!  you  only  prove 

What  dust  we  dote  on,  when  'tis  man  we  love. 

Then  too,  when  Fate  shall  thy  fair  frame  destroy 

(That  cause  of  all  my  guilt,  and  all  my  joy,) 

In  trance  ecstatic  may  thy  pangs  be  drown'd, 

Bright  clouds  descend,  and  angels  watch  thee  round 

From  opening  skies  may  streaming  glories  shine, 

And  saints  embrace  thee  with  a  love  like  mine. 

May  one  kind  grave  unite  each  hapless  name  ! 
And  graft  my  love  immortal  on  thy  fame  ! 
Then,  ages  hence,  when  all  my  woes  are  o'er, 
When  this  rebellious  heart  shall  beat  no  more, 
If  ever  chance  two  wandering  lovers  brings 
To  Paraclete's  white  walls  and  silver  springs, 
O'er  the  pale  marble  shall  they  join  their  heads, 
And  drink  the  falling  tears  each  other  sheds ; 
Then  sadly  say,  with  mutual  pity  moved, 
'  O,  may  we  never  love  as  these  have  loved  !' 
From  the  full  choir,  when  loud  hosannas  rise, 
And  swell  the  pomp  of  dreadful  sacrifice, 
Amid  that  scene  if  some  relenting  eye 
Glance  on  the  stone  where  our  cold  relics  lio, 
Devotion's  self  shall  steal  a  thought  from  heaven, 
One  human  tear  shall  drop,  and  be  forgiven. 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME.  141 

And  sure  if  Fate  some  future  bard  shall  join 
In  sad  similitude  of  griefs  to  mine, 
Condemn'd  whole  years  in  absence  to  deplore, 
And  image  charms  he  must  behold  no  more ; 
Such,  if  there  be,  who  loves  so  long,  so  well, 
Let  him  our  sad,  our  tender  story  tell ! 
The  well-sung  woes  will  soothe  my  pensive  ghost; 
He  best  can  paint  them  who  shall  feel  them  most ! 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME. 

Written  in  the  Year  1711. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  hint  of  the  following  piece  was  taken  from  Chau 
cer's  House  of  Fame.  The  design  is  in  a  manner  en 
tirely  altered,  the  descriptions  and  most  of  the  particu 
lar  thoughts  my  own ;  yet  I  could  not  suffer  it  to  be 
printed  without  this  acknowledgment.  The  reader 
who  would  compare  this  with  Chaucer,  may  begin 
with  his  third  book  of  Fame,  there  being  nothing  in 
the  first  two  books  that  answers  to  their  title. 

The  poem  is  introduced  in  the  manner  of  the  Provencal 
poets,  whose  works  were  for  the  most  part  visions,  or 
pieces  of  imagination,  and  constantly  descriptive. 
From  these,  Petrarch  and  Chaucer  frequently  borrow 
ed  the  idea  of  their  poems.  See  the  Trionfi  of  the 
former,  and  the  Dream,  Flower  and  the  Leaf,  &c.  of 
the  latter.  The  author  of  this,  therefore,  chose  the 
same  sort  of  exordium. 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME. 
IN  that  soft  season,  when  descending  showers 
Call  forth  the  greens,  and  wake  the  rising  flowers ; 
When  opening  buds  salute  the  welcome  day, 
And  earth  relenting,  feels  the  genial  ray  ; 
As  balmy  sleep  had  charm'd  my  cares  to  rest, 
And  love  itself  was  banish'd  from  my  breast, 


142 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(What  time  the  morn  mysterious  visions  brings, 
While  purer  slumbers  spread  their  golden  wings,) 
A  train  of  phantoms  in  wild  order  rose, 
And  join'd,  this  intellectual  scene  compose. 

I  stood,  methought,  betwixt  earth,  seas,  and  skies 
The  whole  creation  open  to  my  eyes  : 
In  air  self-balanc'd  hung  the  globe  below, 
Where  mountains  rise,  and  circling  oceans  flow  . 
Here  naked  rocks,  and  empty  wastes  were  seen, 
There  towering  cities,  and  the  forests  green  ; 
Here  sailing  ships  delight  the  wandering  eyes; 
There  trees  and  intermingled  temples  rise  : 
Now  a  clear  sun  the  shining  scene  displays, 
The  transient  landscape  now  in  clouds  decays. 

O'er  the  wide  p'rospect  as  I  gaz'd  around, 
Sudden  I  heard  a  wild  promiscuous  sound, 
Like  broken  thunders  that  at  distance  roar, 
Or  billows  murmuring  on  the  hollow  shore  : 
Then  gazing  up,  a  glorious  pile  beheld, 
Whose  towering  summit  ambient  clouds  conceal'd 
High  on  a  rock  of  ice  the  structure  lay, 
Steep  its  ascent,  and  slippery  was  the  way : 
The  wond'rous  rock  like  Parian  marble  shone, 
And  seem'd,  to  distant  sight,  of  solid  stone. 
Inscriptions  here  of  various  names  I  view'd, 
The  greater  part  by  hostile  time  subdued  ; 
Yet  wide  was  spread  their  fame  in  ages  past, 
And  poets  once  had  promis'd  they  should  last. 
Some  fresh  engrav'd  appear'd  of  wits  renown'd ; 
Ilook'dagain,  nor  could  their  trace  be  found. 
Critics  I  saw,  that  other  names  deface, 
And  fix  their  own,  with  labour,  in  their  place : 
Their  own,  like  others,  soon  their  place  resign'd, 
Or  disappear'd,  and  left  the  first  behind. 
Nor  was  the  work  impair'd  oy  storms  alone, 
But  felt  the  approaches  of  too  warm  a  sun  ; 
For  Fame,  impatient  of  extremes,  decays 
Not  more  by  envy  than  excess  of  praise. 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME.  143 

Yet  part  no  injuries  of  heav'n  could  feel, 

Like  crystal  faithful  to  the  graven  steel: 

The  rock's  high  summit,  in  the  temple's  shade, 

Nor  heat  could  melt,  nor  beating  storm  invade. 

Their  names  inscrib'd  unnumber'd  ages  past, 

From  time's  first  birth,  with  time  itself  shall  last ; 

These  ever  new,  nor  subject  to  decays, 

Spread,  and  grow  brighter  with  the  length  of  days 

So  Zembla's  rocks  (the  beauteous  work  of  frost) 
Rise  white  in  air,  and  glitter  o'er  the  coast ; 
Pale  suns,  unfelt,  at  distance  roll  away, 
And  on  the  impassive  ice  the  lightnings  play; 
Eternal  snows  the  growing  mass  supply, 
Till  the  bright  mountains  prop  th'  incumbent  skj  • 
As  Atlas  fix'd,  each  hoary  pile  appears, 
The  gather'd  winter  of  a  thousand  years. 
On  this  foundation  Fame's  high  temple  stands ; 
Stupendous  pile  !  not  rear'd  by  mortal  hands. 
Whate'er  proud  Rome  or  Artful  Greece  beheld, 
Or  elder  Babylon,  its  frame  excell'd. 
Four  faces  had  the  dome,  and  every  face 
Of  various  structure,  but  of  equal  grace : 
Four  brazen  gates,  on  columns  lifted  high, 
Salute  the  different  quarters  of  the  sky. 
Here  fabled  chiefs,  in  darker  ages  born, 
Or  worthies  old,  whom  arms  or  arts  adorn, 
Who  cities  rais'd,  or  tam'd  a  monstrous  race, 
The  walls  in  venerable  order  grace  : 
Heroes  in  animated  marble  frown, 
And  legislators  seem  to  think  in  stone. 

Westward,  a  sumptuous  frontispiece  appear'd, 
On  Doric  pillars  of  white  marble  rear'd, 
Crown'd  with  an  architrave  of  antique  mould, 
And  sculpture  rising  on  the  roughen'd  gold. 
In  shaggy  spoils  here  Theseus  was  beheld, 
And  Perseus  dreadful  with  Minerva's  shield : 
There  great  Alcides,  stooping  with  his  toil, 
Rests  on  his  club,  and  holds  th'  Hesperian  spoil 


144         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Here  Orpheus  sings  ;  trees  moving  to  the  sound 

Start  from  their  roots,  and  form  a  shade  around : 

Amphion  there  the  loud  creating  lyre 

Strikes,  and  beholds  a  sudden  Thebes  aspire ! 

Cythaeron's  echoes  answer  to  his  call, 

And  half  the  mountain  rolls  into  a  wall: 

There  might  you  see  the  lengthening  spires  ascend, 

The  domes  swell  up,  the  widening  arches  bend, 

The  growing  tow'rs,  like  exhalations,  rise, 

And  the  huge  columns  heave  into  the  skies. 

The  eastern  front  was  glorious  to  behold, 
With  diamond  flaming,  and  barbaric  gold. 
There  Ninus  shone,  who  spread  the  Assyrian  fame, 
And  the  great  founder  of  the  Persian  name : 
There  in  long  robes  the  royal  magi  stand, 
Grave  Zoroaster  waves  the  circling  wand  : 
The  sage  Chaldsans  rob'd  in  white  appear'd, 
And  Brachmans,  deep  in  desert  woods  rever'd. 
These  stopp'd  the  moon,  and  call'd  th'  unbodied  shade* 
To  midnight  banquets  in  the  glimmering  glades; 
Made  visionary  fabrics  round  them  rise, 
And  airy  spectres  skim  before  their  eyes; 
Of  talismans  and  sigils  knew  the  power, 
And  careful  watched  the  planetary  hour. 
Superior,  and  alone,  Confucius  stood, 
Who  taught  that  useful  science — to  be  good. 

But  on  the  south,  a  long  majestic  race 
Of  Egypt's  priests  the  gilded  niches  grace, 
Who  measured  earth,  described  the  starry  spheres, 
And  traced  the  long  records  of  lunar  years. 
High  on  his  car  Sesostris  struck  my  view, 
Whom  scepter'd  slaves  in  golden  harness  drew  : 
His  hands  a  bow  and  po.'.ited  javelin  hold  : 
His  giant  limbs  are  arm'd  in  scales  of  gold. 
Between  the  statues  obelisks  were  placed, 
And  the  learn'd  walls  with  hieroglyphics  graced. 

Of  Gothic  structure  was  the  northern  side, 
O'erwrought  with  ornaments  of  barbarous  prido. 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME  145 

There  huge  Colosses  rose,  with  trophies  crown'd, 
And  Runic  characters  were  graced  around. 
There  sat  Zamolxis  with  erected  eyes, 
And  Odin  here  in  mimic  trances  dies. 
There  on  rude  iron  columns,  smear'd  with  blood, 
The  horrid  forms  of  Scythian  heroes  stood : 
Druids  and  Bards  (their  once  loud  harps  unstrung) 
And  youths  that  died  to  be  by  poets  sung. 
These  and  a  thousand  more  of  doubtful  fame, 
To  whom  old  fables  give  a  lasting  name, 
In  ranks  adorn'd  the  temple's  outward  face ; 
The  wall  in  lustre  and  effect  like  glass, 
Which,  o'er  each  object  casting  various  dyes, 
Enlarges  some,  and  others  multiplies  : 
Nor  void  of  emblem  was  the  mystic  wall, 
For  thus  romantic  Fame  increases  all. 

The  temple  shakes,  the  sounding  gates  unfold, 
Wide  vaults  appear,  and  roofs  of  fretted  gold : 
Raised  on  a  thousand  pillars  wreathed  around 
With  laurel-foliage,  and  with  eagles  crown'd  t 
Of  bright  transparent  beryl  were  the  walls, 
The  friezes  gold,  and  gold  the  capitals : 
As  heaven  with  stars,  the  roof  with  jewels  glows, 
And  ever-living  lamps  depend  in  rows. 
Full  in  the  passage  of  each  spacious  gate, 
The  sage  historians  in  white  garments  wait ; 
Graved  o'er  their  seats  the  form  of  Time  was  found, 
His  scythe  reversed,  and  both  his  pinions  bound. 
Within  stood  heroes,  who  through  loud  alarms 
In  bloody  fields  pursued  renown  in  arms. 
High  on  a  throne  with  trophies  charged  I  view'd 
The  youth  that  all  things  but  himself  subdued ; 
His  feet  on  sceptres  and  tiaras  trod, 
And  his  horn'd  head  belied  the  Lybian  god. 
There  Caesar,  graced  with  both  Minervas,  shono; 
Caesar,  the  world's  great  master,  and  his  own 
Unmoved,  superior  still  in  every  state,          t 
And  scarce  detested  in  his  country's  fate. 
10 


146         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

But  thief  were  those,  who  not  for  empire  fought, 
Put  with  their  toils  their  people's  safety  bought: 

'h  o'er  the  rest  Epaminondas  stood  ; 
4.  imoleon,  glorious  in  his  brother's  blood ; 
Bold  Scipio,  saviour  of  the  Roman  state  ; 
Great  in  his  triumphs,  in  retirement  great; 
And  wise  Aurelius,  in  whose  well-taught  mind 
With  boundless  power  unbounded  virtue  join'd, 
His  own  strict  judge,  and  patron  of  mankind. 

Much-suffering  heroes  next  their  honours  claim, 
Those  of  less  noisy,  and  less  guilty  fame, 
Fair  virtue's  silent  train  :  supreme  of  these 
Here  ever  shines  the  godlike  Socrates  : 
He  whom  ungrateful  Athens  could  expel, 
At  all  times  just,  but  when  he  sign'd  the  shell : 
Here  his  abode  the  martyr'd  Phocion  claims, 
With  Agis,  not  the  last  of  Spartan  names: 
Unconquer'd  Cato  shows  the  wound  he  tore, 
And  Brutus  his  ill  genius  meets  no  more. 

But  in  the  centre  of  the  hallow'd  choir, 
Six  pompous  columns  o'er  the  rest  aspire; 
Around  the  shrine  itself  of  Fame  they  stand, 
Hold  the  chief  honours,  and  the  fane  command 
High  on  the  first,  the  mighty  Homer  shone  ; 
Eternal  adamant  composed  his  throne; 
Father  of  verse  !  in  holy  fillets  dress'd, 
His  silver  beard  waved  gently  o'er  his  breast ; 
Though  blind,  a  boldness  in  his  looks  appears, 
In  years  he  seem'd,  but  not  impair'd  by  years. 
The  wars  of  Troy  were  round  the  pillar  seen  ; 
Here  fierce  Tydides  wounds  the  Cyprian  queen ; 
Here  Hector  glorious  from  Patroclus'  fall, 
Here  dragg'd  in  triumph  round  the  Trojan  wall. 
Motion  and  life  did  every  part  inspire, 
Bold  was  the  work,  and  proved  the  master's  fire; 
A  strong  expression  most  he  seem'd  t'  affect, 
And  here  and  there  disclosed  a  brave  neglect. 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME. 

A  golden  column  next  in  rank  appear'd, 
On  which  a  shrine  of  purest  gold  was  rear'd ; 
Finish'd  the  whole,  and  labour' d  every  part, 
With  patientp  touches  of  unwearied  art ; 
The  Mantuan  there  in  sober  triumph  sate, 
Composed  his  posture,  and  his  look  sedate  ; 
On  Homer  still  he  fix'd  a  reverent  eye, 
Great  without  pride,  in  modest  majesty. 
In  living  siulpture  on  the  sides  were  spread 
The  Latian  wars,  and  haughty  Turnus  dead ; 
Eliza  stretch'd  upon  the  funeral  pyre  ; 
JEneas  bending  with  his  aged  sire ; 
Troy,  flamed  in  burning  gold,  and  o'er  the  throne 
'Arms  and  the  man'  in  golden  cyphers  shone. 

Four  swans  sustain  a  car  of  silver  bright, 
With  heads  advanced,  and  pinions  stretch'd  for  flig 
Here,  like  some  furious  prophet,  Pindar  rode, 
And  seem'd  to  labour  with  the  inspiring  god. 
Across  the  harp  a  careless  hand  he  flings, 
And  boldly  sinks  into  the  sounding  strings. 
The  figured  games  of  Greece  the  column  grace, 
Neptune  and  Jove  survey  the  rapid  race. 
The  youths  hang  o'er  their  chariots  as  they  run ; 
The  fiery  steeds  seem  starting  from  the  stone : 
The  champions  in  distorted  postures  threat ; 
And  all  appear'd  irregularly  great. 

Here  happy  Horace  tuned  the  Atisonian  lyre 
To  sweeter  sounds,  and  temper'd  Pindar's  fire  ; 
Pleased  with  Alcreus'  manly  rage  to  infuse 
The  softer  spirit  of  the  Sapphic  muse. 
The  polish  d  pillar  different  sculptures  grace; 
A  work  outlasting  monumental  brass. 
Here  smiling  loves  and  Bacchanals  appear, 
The  Julian  star  and  great  Augustus  here. 
The  doves  that  round  the  infant  poet  spread 
Myrtles  and  bays,  hung  hovering  o'er  his  head 

Here,  in  a  shrine  that  cast  a  dazzling  light, 
Sate  fix'H  in  thought  the  mighty  Stagyrite : 


148         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

His  sacred  head  a  radiant  zodiac  crown' d, 
And  various  animals  his  sides  surround  ; 
His  piercing  eyes,  erect,  appear  to  view 
Superior  worlds,  and  look  all  nature  through. 

With  equal  rays  immortal  Tully  shone, 
The  Roman  rostra  deck'd  the  consul's  throne  : 
Gathering  his  flowing  robe  he  seem'd  to  stand, 
In  act  to  speak,  and  graceful  stretch'd  his  hand 
Behind,  Rome's  Genius  waits  with  civic  crowns, 
And  the  great  father  of  his  country  owns. 

These  massy  columns  in  a  circle  rise, 
O'er  which  a  pompous  dome  invades  the  skies ; 
Scarce  to  the  top  I  stretch'd  my  aching  sight, 
So  large  it  spread,  and  swell'd  to  such  a  height. 
Full  in  the  midst  proud  Fame's  imperial  seat 
With  jewels  blazed,  magnificently  great : 
The  vivid  emeralds  there  revive  the  eye, 
The  flaming  rubies  show  their  sanguine  dye, 
Bright  azure  rays  from  lively  sapphires  stream, 
And  lucid  amber  casts  a  golden  gleam. 
With  various-colour'd  light  the  pavement  shone, 
And  all  on  fire  appear'd  the  glowing  throne ; 
The  dome's  high  arch  reflects  the  mingled  blaze, 
And  forms  a  rainbow  of  alternate  rays. 
When  on  the  goddess  first  I  cast  my  sight, 
Scarce  seem'd  her  stature  of  a  cubit's  height ; 
But  swell'd  to  larger  size  the  more  I  gazed, 
Till  to  the  roof  her  towering  front  she  raised. 
With  her,  the  temple  every  moment  grew, 
And  ampler  vistas  open'd  to  my  view : 
Upward  the  columns  shoot,  the  roofs  ascend, 
And  arches  widen,  and  long  aisles  extend. 
Such  was  her  form,  as  ancient  bards  have  told, 
Wings  raise  her  arms,  and  wings  her  feet  infold ; 
A  thousand  busy  tongues  the  goddess  bears, 
A  thousand  open  eyes,  and  thousand  listening  ears 
Beneath,  in  order  ranged,  the  tuneful  Nine 
'Her  virgin  handmaids)  still  attend  the  shrine  • 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME.  149 

With  eyes  on  Fame,  for  ever  fix'd,  they  sing ; 

For  Fame  they   raise    their  voice,  and  tune    the 

string; 

With  time's  first  birth  began  the  heavenly  lays, 
And  last,  eternal,  through  the  length  of  days. 

Around  these  wonders  as  I  cast  a  look, 
The  trumpet  sounded,  and  the  temple  shook, 
And  all  the  nations,  summon'd  at  the  call, 
From  different  quarters  fill'd  the  crowded  hall : 
Of  various  tongues  the  mingled  sounds  were  heard  • 
In  various  garbs  promiscuous  throngs  appear'd  ; 
Thick  as  the  bees  that  with  the  spring  renew 
Their  flowery  toils,  and  sip  the  fragrant  dew  : 
When  the  wing'd  colonies  first  tempt  the  sky, 
O'er  dusky  fields  and  shaded  waters  fly, 
Or,  settling,  seize  the  sweets  the  blossoms  yield, 
And  a  low  murmur  runs  along  the  field. 
Millions  of  suppliant  crowds  the  shrine  attend, 
And  all  degrees  before  the  goddess  bend: 
The  poor,  the  rich,  the  valiant,  and  the  sage, 
And  boasting  youth,  and  narrative  old  age. 
Their  pleas  were  different,  their  request  the  same  : 
For  good  and  bad  alike  are  fond  of  fame. 
Some  she  disgraced,  and  some  with  honours  crown'd; 
Unlike  successes  equal  merits  found. 
Thus  her  blind  sister,  fickle  Fortune,  reigns, 
And  undiscerning  scatters  crowns  and  chains. 

First  at  the  shrine  the  learned  world  appear, 
And  to  the  goddess  thus  prefer  their  prayer: 

'  Long  have  we  sought  to  instruct  and  please  man 

kind  ; 

With  studies  pale,  with  midnight  vigils  blind  ; 
But  thank'd  by  few,  rewarded  yet  by  none, 
We  here  appeal  to  thy  superior  throne  : 
On  wit  and  learning  the  just  prize  bestow, 
For  fame  is  all  we  must  expect  below.' 

The  goddess  heard,  and  bade  the  Muses  raise 
The  polden  trumpet  of  eternal  praise  : 


160         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


From  pole  to  pole  the  Vinds  diffuse 
That  fills  the  circuit  of  the  world  around  ; 
Not  all  at  once  as  thunder  breaks  the  cloud  ; 
The  notes  at  first  were  rather  sweet  than  loud  : 
By  just  degrees  they  every  moment  rise, 
Fill  the  wide  earth,  and  gain  upon  the  skies. 
At  every  breath  were  balmy  odours  shed, 
Which  still  grew  sweeter,  as  they  wider  spread 
Less  fragrant  scents  the  unfolding  rose  exhales, 
Or  spices  breathing  in  Arabian  gales. 
Next  these  the  good  and  just,  an  awful  train, 
Thus  on  their  knees  address  the  sacred  fane  : 
'Since  living  virtue  is  with  envy  cursed, 
And  the  best  men  are  treated  like  the  worst, 
Do  thou,  just  goddess,  call  our  merits  forth, 
And  give  each  deed  the  exact  intrinsic  worth.' 
1  Not  with  bare  justice  shall  your  acts  be  crownu,' 
Said  Fame,  '  but  high  above  desert  renown'd  : 
Let  fuller  notes  the  applauding  world  amaze, 
And  the  loud  clarion  labour  in  your  praise.' 

This  band  dismiss'd,  behold  another  crowd 
Preferr'd  the  same  request,  and  lowly  bow'd  : 
The  constant  tenour  of  whose  well-spent  days 
No  less  deserved  a  just  return  of  praise. 
But  straight  the  direful  trump  of  slander  sounds  ; 
Through  the  big  dome  the  doubling  thunder  bounds 
Loud  as  the  burst  of  cannon  rends  the  skies, 
The  dire  report  through  every  region  flies, 
In  every  ear  incessant  rumours  rung, 
And  gathering  scandals  grew  on  every  tongue. 
From  the  black  tnimpet's  rusty  concave  broke 
Sulphureous  flames  and  clouds  of  rolling  smoke 
The  poisonous  vapour  blots  the  purple  skies, 
And  withers  all  before  it  as  it  flies. 

A  troop  came  next,  who  crowns  and  armour  wore, 
And  proud  defiance  in  their  looks  they  bore  : 
For  thee,'  they  cried,  '  amidst  alarms  and  strife, 
We  sail'd  in  tempests  down  the  stream  of  life  ; 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME.  15: 

For  thee  whole  nations  fill'd  with  flames  and  blood. 

And  swam  to  empire  through  the  purple  flood. 

Those  ills  we  dared,  thy  inspiration  own  ; 

What  virtue  seem'd,  was  done  for  thee  alone.' 
'  Ambitious  fools  !'  the  queen  replied,  and  frown'd, 

Be  all  your  acts  in  dark  oblivion  drown'd  ; 

There  sleep  forgot  with  mighty  tyrants  gone, 

Your  statues  moulder'd,  and  your  names  unknown  ! 

A  sudden  cloud  straight  snatch'd  them  from  my  sight, 
And  each  majestic  phantom  sunk  in  night. 

Then  came  the  smallest  tribe  I  yet  had  seen  : 
Plain  was  their  dress,  and  modest  was  their  mien. 
'  Great  idol  of  mankind  ;  we  neither  claim 
The  praise  of  merit,  nor  aspire  to  fame  ! 
But,  safe  in  deserts  from  the  applause  of  men, 
Would  die  unheard-of  as  we  lived  unseen. 
'  Tis  all  we  beg  thee,  to  conceal  from  sight 
Those  acts  of  goodness  which  themselves  requite. 
O  let  us  still  the  secret  joys  partake, 
To  follow  virtue  e'en  for  virtue's  sake.' 

'  And  live  there  men,  who  slight  immortal  Fame  ? 
Who  then  with  incense  shall  adore  our  name  ? 
But  mortals  !  know,  'tis  still  our  greatest  pride, 
To  blaze  those  virtues  which  the  good  would  hide 
Rise  !  Muses,  rise  !  add  all  your  tuneful  breath ; 
These  must  not  sleep  in  darkness  and  in  death.' 
She  said  :  in  air  the  trembling  music  floats, 
And  on  the  winds  triumphant  swell  the  notes ; 
So  soft,  though  high,  so  loud,  and  yet  so  clear, 
E'en  listening  angels  lean  from  heaven  to  hear  ; 
To  farthest  shores  the  ambrosial  spirit  flies, 
Sweet  to  the  world,  and  grateful  to  the  skies. 

Next  these  a  youthful  train  their  vows  express'd, 
With  feathers  crown'd,  with  gay  embroidery  dress'd 

Hither,'  they  cried,  '  direct  your  eyes,  and  see 
The  men  of  pleasure,  dress,  and  gallantry  ; 
Ours  is  the  place  at  banquets,  balls,  and  plays  ; 
Sprightly  our  nights,  polite  arc  all  our  days ; 


152          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Courts  we  frequent,  where  'tis  our  pleasing  care 
To  pay  due  visits,  and  address  the  fair  : 
In  fact,  'tis  true,  no  nymphs  we  could  persuade, 
But  still  in  fancy  vanquish'd  every  maid ; 
Of  unknown  dutchesses  lewd  tales  we  tell, 
Yet,  would  the  world  believe  us,  all  were  well. 
The  joy  let  others  have,  and  we  the  name, 
And  what  we  want  in  pleasure,  grant  in  fame.' 

The  queen  assents,  the  trumpet  rends  the  skies, 
And  at  each  blast  a  lady's  honour  dies. 

Pleased  with  the  same  success,  vast  numbers  presa'd 
Around  the  shrine,  and  made  the  same  request : 
'  What  you,'  she  cried,  '  unlearn'd  in  arts  to  please, 
Slaves  to  yourselves,  and  e'en  fatigued  with  ease, 
Who  lose  a  length  of  undeserving  days, 
Would  you  usuro  the  lover's  dear-bought  praise? 
To  just  contempt,  ye  vain  pretenders,  fall, 
The  people's  fable,  and  the  scorn  of  all.' 
Straight  the  black  clarion  sends  a  horrid  sound, 
Loud  laughs  burst  out,  and  bitter  scoiFs  fly  round ; 
Whispers  are  heard,  with  taunts  reviling  loud, 
And  scornful  hisses  run  through  all  the  crowd. 

Last,  those  who  boast  of  mighty  mischiefs  done, 
Enslave  their  country,  or  usurp  a  throne ; 
Or  who  their  glory's  dire  foundation  laid 
On  sovereigns  ruin'd,  or  on  friends  betray'd  ; 
Calm  thinking  villains,  whom  no  faith  could  fix, 
Of  crooked  counsels  and  dark  politics  : 
Of  these  a  gloomy  tribe  surround  the  throne, 
And  beg  to  make  the  immortal  treasons  known. 
The  trumpet  roars,  long  flaky  flames  expire, 
With  sparks  that  seem'd  to  set  the  world  on  fire. 
At  the  dread  sound,  pale  mortals  stood  aghast, 
And  startled  nature  trembled  with  the  blast. 

This  having  heard  and  seen,  some  power  unknowe 
Straight  changed  the  scene,  and  snatch'd  me  from  tht 
Before  my  view  appear'd  a  structure  fair,  [throne 
ts  site  uncertain,  if  in  earth  or  air : 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME.  153 

With  rapid  motion  turn'd  the  mansion  round ; 

With  ceaseless  noise  the  ringing  walls  resound: 

Not  less  in  number  were  the  spacious  doors, 

Than  leaves  on  trees,  or  sands  upon  the  shores  ; 

Which  still  unfolded  stand,  by  night,  by  day, 

Pervious  to  winds,  and  open  every  way. 

As  flames  by  nature  to  the  skies  ascend, 

As  weighty  bodies  to  the  centre  tend, 

As  to  the  sea  returning  rivers  roll, 

And  the  touch'd  needle  trembles  to  the  pole ; 

Hither,  as  to  their  proper  place,  arise 

All  various  sounds  from  earth,  and  seas,  and  skies, 

Or  spoke  aloud,  or  whisper'd  in  the  ear ; 

Nor  ever  silence,  rest,  or  peace,  is  here. 

As  on  the  smooth  expanse  of  crystal  lakes 

The  sinking  stone  at  first  a  circle  makes ; 

The  trembling  surface,  by  the  motion  stirr'd 

Spreads  in  a  second  circle,  then  a  third ; 

Wide,  and  more  wide,  the  floating  rings  advance, 

Fill  all  the  watery  plain,  and  to  the  margin  dance : 

Thus  every  voice  and  sound,  when  first  they  break. 

On  neighbouring  air  a  soft  impression  make ; 

Another  ambient  circle  then  they  move ; 

That,  in  its  turn,  impels  the  next  above  ; 

Through  undulating  air  the  sounds  are  sent, 

And  spread  o'er  all  the  fluid  element. 

There  various  news  I  heard  of  love  and  strife, 
Of  peace  and.  war,  health,  sickness,  death,  and  life. 
Of  loss  and  gain,  of  famine  and  of  store, 
Of  storms  at  sea,  and  travels  on  the  shore, 
Of  prodigies,  and  portents  seen  in  air, 
Of  fires  and  plagues,  and  stars  with  blazing  hair 
Of  turns  of  fortune,  changes  in  the  state, 
The  falls  of  favourites,  projects  of  the  great, 
Of  old  mismanagements,  taxations  new  ; 
All  neither  wholly  false,  nor  wholly  true. 

Above,  below,  without,  within,  around 
Confused,  unnumber'd  multitudes  are  found, 


154 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Who  pass,  repass,  advance,  and  glide  away ; 
Hosts  raised  by  fear,  and  phantoms  of  a  day: 
Astrologers,  that  future  fates  foreshow, 
Projectors,  quacks,  and  lawyers  not  a  few  ; 
'  And  priests,  and  party  zealots,  numerous  bands, 
With  home-born  lies,  or  tales  from  foreign  lands; 
Each  talk'd  aloud,  or  in  some  secret  place, 
And  wild  impatience  stared  in  every  face. 
The  flying  rumours  gather'd  as  they  roll'd, 
Scarce  any  tale  was  sooner  heard  than  told  ; 
And  all  who  told  it  added  something  new, 
And  all  who  heard  it  made  enlargements  too  ; 
In  every  ear  it  spread,  on  every  tongue  it  grew. 
Thus  flying  east  and  west,  and  north  and  south, 
News  travell'd  with  increase  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
So  from  a  spark,  that  kindled  first  by  chance, 
With  gathering  force  the  quickening  flames  advance; 
Till  to  the  clouds  their  curling  heads  aspire, 
And  towers  and  temples  sink  in  floods  of  fire. 

When  thus  ripe  lies  are  to  perfection  sprung, 
Full  grown,  and  fit  to  grace  a  mortal  tongue, 
Through  thousand  vents,  impatient,  forth  they  flow, 
And  rush  in  millions  on  the  world  below, 
Fame  sits  aloft,  and  points  them  out  their  course, 
Their  date  determines,  and  prescribes  their  force  : 
Some  to  remain,  and  some  to  perish  soon  ; 
Or  wane  and  wax  alternate  with  the  moon. 
Around,  a  thousand  winged  wonders  fly, 
Borne  by  the  trumpet's  blast,  and  scatter'd  through 
the  sky. 

There,  at  one  passage,  oft  you  might  survey 
A  lie  and  truth  contending  for  the  way  ; 
And  long  'twas  doubtful,  though  so  closely  pent, 
Which  first  should  issue  through  the  narrow  vent. 
At  last  agreed,  together  out  they  fly, 
Inseparable  now  the  truth  and  lie ; 
The  strict  companions  are  for  ever  join'd, 
And  this  or  that  u'nmix'd,  no  mortal  e'er  shall  find. 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  165 

While  thus  I  stood,  intent  to  see  and  hear, 
One  came,  methought,  and  whisper'd  in  my  ear : 
What  could  thus  high  thy  rash  ambition  raise? 
Art  thou,  fond  youth,  a  candidate  for  praise  ?' 

'  'Tis  true,'  said  I;  'not  void  of  hopes  I  came; 
For  who  so  fond  as  youthful  bards  of  Fame  ? 
But  few,  alas  !  the  casual  blessing  boast, 
So  hard  to  gain,  so  easy  to  be  lost. 
How  vain  that  second  life  in  others'  breath, 
The  estate  which  wits  inherit  after  death  ! 
Ease,  health,  and  life,  for  this  they  must  resign, 
(Unsure  the  tenure,  but  how  vast  the  fine  !) 
The  great  man's  curse,  without  the  gains,  endure 
Be  envied,  wretched,  and  be  flatter'd,  poor ; 
All  luckless  wits  their  enemies  profess'd, 
And  all  successful,  jealous  friends  at  best: 
Nor  Fame  I  slight,  nor  for  her  favours  call ; 
She  comes  unlook'd-for,  if  she  comes  at  all. 
But  if  the  purchase  cost  so  dear  a  price 
As  soothing  folly,  or  exalting  vice, 
Oh  !  if  the  muse  must  Hatter  lawless  sway, 
And  follow  still  where  fortune  leads  the  way ; 
Or  if  no  basis  bear  my  rising  name, 
But  the  fallen  ruins  of  another's  fame  ; 
Then,  teach  me,  Heaven !  to  scorn  the  guilty  bays 
Drive  from  my  breast  that  wretched  lust  of  praise 
Unblemish'd  let  me  live,  or  die  unknown  ; 
Oh,  grant  an  honest  fame,  or  grant  me  none  !' 


JANUARY  AND  MAY; 

OR, 

THE  MERCHANT'S  TALE. 
FROM  CHAUCER. 

THERE  lived  in  Lombardy,  as  authors  write, 
In  days  of  old,  a  wise  and  worthy  knight, 


156         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Of  gentle  manners,  as  of  generous  race, 

Bless'd  with  much  sense,  more  riches,  and  some  grace 

Yet,  led  astray  by  Venus'  soft  delights, 

He  scarce  could  rule  some  idle  appetites  : 

For  long  ago,  let  priests  say  what  they  could, 

Weak  sinful  laymen  were  but  flesh  and  blood. 

But  in  due  time,  when  sixty  years  were  o'er, 
He  vow'd  to  lead  this  vicious  life  no  more : 
Whether  pure  holiness  inspired  his  mind, 
Or  dotage  turn'd  his  brain,  is  hard  to  find : 
But  his  high  courage  prick'd  him  forth  to  wed, 
And  try  the  pleasures  of  a  lawful  bed. 
This  was  his  nightly  dream,  his  daily  care, 
And  to  the  heavenly  powers  his  constant  praye 
Once  ere  he  died,  to  taste  the  blissful  life 
Of  a  kind  husband  and  a  loving  wife. 

These  thoughts  he  fortified  with  reasons  still 
(For  none  want  reasons  to  confirm  their  will.) 
Grave  authors  say,  and  witty  poets  sing, 
That  honest  wedlock  is  a  glorious  thing : 
But  depth  of  judgment  most  in  him  appears, 
Who  wisely  weds  in  his  maturer  years. 
Then  let  him  choose  a  damsel  young  and  fair, 
To  bless  his  age,  and  bring  a  worthy  heir: 
To  soothe  his  cares,  and,  free  from  noise  and  sin  <>, 
Conduct  him  gently  to  the  verge  of  life. 
Let  sinful  bachelors  their  woes  deplore, 
Full  well  they  merit  all  they  feel,  and  more  : 
Unawed  by  precepts  human  or  divine, 
Like  birds  and  beasts  promiscuously  they  join  : 
Nor  know  to  make  the  present  blessing  last, 
To  hope  the  future,  or  esteem  the  past : 
But  vainly  boast  the  joys  they  never  tried, 
And  find  divulged  the  secrets  they  would  hide. 
The  married  man  may  bear  his  yoke  with  ease, 
Secure  at  once  himself  and  Heaven  to  please; 
And  pass  his  inoffensive  hours  away, 
In  bliss  all  night,  and  innocence  all  day  : 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  157 

Though  fortune  change,  his  constant  spouse  remains 
Augments  his  joys,  or  mitigates  his  pains. 

But  what  so  pure,  which  envious  tongues  will  spare  1 
Some  wicked  wits  have  libell'd  all  the  fair. 
Witli  matchless  impudence  they  style  a  wife 
The  dear-bought  curse,  and  lawful  plague  of  life  ; 
A  bosom-serpent,  a  domestic  evil, 
A  night-invasion,  and  a  mid-day  devil. 
Let  not  the  wise  those  slanderous  words  regard, 
But  curse  the  bones  of  every  lying  bard. 
All  other  goods  by  fortune's  hand  are  given ; 
A  wife  is  the  peculiar  gift  of  Heaven. 
Vain  fortune's  favours,  never  at  a  stay, 
Like  empty  shadows,  pass,  and  glide  away  ; 
One  solid  comfort,  our  eternal  wife, 
Abundantly  supplies  us  all  our  life  : 
This  blessing  lasts  (if  those  who  try  say  true) 
As  long  as  heart  can  wish — and  longer  too. 

Our  grandsire  Adam,  ere  of  Eve  possess'd, 
Alone,  and  e'en  in  Paradise  unbless'd, 
With  mournful  looks  the  blissful  scenes  survey'd, 
And  wandcr'd  in  the  solitary  shade: 
The  Maker  saw,  took  pity,  and  bestow'd 
Woman,  the  last,  the  best  reserved  of  God. 

A  wife  !  ah  gentle  deities,  can  he 
That  has  a  wife,  e'er  feel  adversity  ? 
Would  men  but  follow  what  the  sex  advise, 
All  things  would  prosper,  all  the  world  grow  wise 
'Twas  by  Rebecca's  aid  that  Jacob  won 
His  father's  blessing  from  an  elder  son  : 
Abusive  Nabal  owed  his  forfeit  life 
To  the  wise  conduct  of  a  prudent  wife  : 
Heroic  Judith,  as  old  Hebrews  show, 
Preserved  the  Jews,  and  slew  the  Assyrian  foe : 
At  Esther's  suit,  the  persecuting  sword 
Was  sheathed,  and  Israel  lived  to  bless  the  Lord 

These  weighty  motives,  January  the  sage 
Maturely  ponder'd  in  his  riper  age  ; 


158 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And,  charm'd  with  virtuous  joys  and  sober  life, 
Would  try  that  Christian  comfort,  call'd  a  wife. 
His  friends  were  surnmon'd  on  a  point  so  nice, 
To  pass  their  judgment,  and  to  give  advice; 
But  fix'd  before,  and  well  resolved  was  he  ; 
(As  men  that  ask  advice  are  wont  to  be.) 

'  My  friends,'  he  cried,  (and  cast  a  mournful  look 
Around  the  room,  and  sigh'd  before  he  spoke  :) 
Beneath  the  weight  of  threescore  years  I  bend, 
And  worn  with  cares  and  hastening  to  my  end  ; 
How  I  have  lived,  alas  !  you  know  too  well, 
In  worldly  follies,  which  I  blush  to  tell; 
But  gracious  Heaven  has  ope'd  my  eyes  at  last, 
With  due  regret  I  view  my  vices  past, 
And,  as  the  precept  of  the  Church  decrees, 
Will  take  a  wife,  and  live  in  holy  ease. 
But,  since  by  counsel  all  things  should  be  done, 
And  many  heads  are  wiser  still  than  one ; 
Choose  you  for  me,  who  best  shall  be  content 
When  my  desire  's  approved  by  your  consent. 

'  One  caution  yet  is  needful  to  be  told, 
To  guide  your  choice  ;  this  wife  must  not  be  old 
There  goes  a  saying,  and  'twas  shrewdly  said, 
Old  fish  at  table,  but  young  flesh  in  bed. 
My  soul  abhors  the  tasteless,  dry  embrace 
Of  a  stale  virgin  with  a  winter  face  : 
In  that  cold  season  Love  but  treats  his  guest 
With  bean-straw,  and  tough  forage  at  the  best. 
No  crafty  widows  shall  approach  my  bed  ; 
Those  are  too  wise  for  bachelors  to  wed  ; 
As  subtle  clerks,  by  many  schools  are  made, 
Twice-married  dames  are  mistresses  of  the  trade , 
But  young  and  tender  virgins,  ruled  with  ease, 
We  form  like  wax,  and  mould  them  as  we  please. 

'  Conceive  me,  sirs,  nor  take  my  sense  amiss ; 
'Tis  what  concerns  my  soul's  eternal  bliss  : 
Since  if  I  found  no  pleasure  in  my  spouse, 
As  flesh  is  frail,  and  who  (God  help  me)  knows? 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  159 

Then  should  I  live  in  lewd  adultery, 
And  sink  downright  to  Satan  when  I  die. 
Or  were  I  cursed  with  an  unfruitful  bed, 
The  righteous  end  were  lost  for  which  I  wed ; 
To  raise  up  seed  to  bless  the  powers  above, 
And  not  for  pleasure  only,  or  for  love. 
Think  not  I  dote  ;  'tis  time  to  take  a  wife, 
When  vigorous  blood  forbids  a  chaster  life  : 
Those  that  are  bless'd  with  store  of  grace  divine, 
May  live  like  saints,  by  Heaven's  consent  and  mine 

'And  since  I  speak  of  wedlock,  let  me  say, 
(As  thank  my  stars,  in  modest  truth  I  may,) 
My  limbs  are  active,  still  I'm  sound  at  heart, 
And  a  new  vigour  springs  in  every  part. 
Think  not  my  virtue  lost,  though  time  has  shed 
These  reverend  honours  on  my  hoary  head  ; 
Thus  trees  are  crown'd  with  blossoms  white  as  snow 
The  vital  sap  then  rising  from  below  : 
Old  as  I  am,  my  lusty  limbs  appear 
Like  winter  greens,  that  flourish  all  the  year. 
Now,  sirs,  you  know  to  what  I  stand  inclined, 
Let  every  friend  with  freedom  speak  his  mind.' 

He  said ;  the  rest  in  different  parts  divide  ; 
The  knotty  point  was  urged  on  either  side  : 
Marriage,  the  theme  on  which  they  all  declaim'd, 
Some  praised  with  wit,  and  some  with  reason  blamed 
Till  what  with  proofs,  objections,  and  replies, 
Each  wondrous  positive,  and  wondrous  wise, 
There  fell  between  his  brothers  a  debate ; 
Placebo  this  was  call'd,  and  Justin  that. 

First  to  the  knight  Placebo  thus  begun 
(Mild  were  his  looks,  and  pleasing  was  his  tone :) 
'  Such  prudence,  sir,  in  all  your  words  appears, 
As  plainly  proves,  experience  dwells  with  years ! 
Yet  you  pursue  sage  Solomon's  advice, 
To  work  by  counsel  when  affairs  are  nice  : 
But,  with  the  wise  man's  leave,  I  must  protest, 
So  may  my  soul  arrive  at  ease  and  rest, 
As  still  I  hold  your  own  advice  the  best. 


160         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

'  Sir,  I  have  lived  a  courtier  all  my  days, 
And  studied  men,  their  manners,  and  their  ways  .5 
And  have  observed  this  useful  maxim  still, 
To  let  my  betters  always  have  their  will. 
Nay,  if  my  lord  affirm  that  black  was  white, 
My  word  was  this  :  '  Your  honour's  in  the  right. 
The  assuming  wit,  who  deems  himself  so  wise, 
As  his  mistaken  patron  to  advise, 
Let  him  not  dare  to  vent  his  dangerous  thought: 
A  noble  fool  was  never  in  a  fault. 
This,  sir,  affects  not  you,  whose  every  word 
Is  weigh' d  with  judgment,  and  befits  a  lord : 
Your  will  is  mine;  and  is  (I  will  maintain) 
Pleasing  to  God,  and  should  be  so  to  man  ! 
At  least  your  courage  all  the  world  must  praise, 
Who  dare  to  wed  in  your  declining  days. 
Indulge  the  vigour  of  your  mounting'blood, 
And  let  gray  folks  be  indolently  good, 
Who,  past  all  pleasure,  damn  the  joys  of  sense 
With  reverend  duluess,  and  grave  impotence.' 

Justin,  who  silent  sat,  and  heard  the  man, 
Thus,  with  a  philosophic  frown,  began ; 

'  A  heathen  author  of  the  first  degree 
(Who  though  not  faith,  had  sense  as  well  as  we,) 
Bids  us  be  certain  our  concerns  to  trust 
To  those  of  generous  principles,  and  just. 
The  venture's  greater,  I'll  presume  to  say, 
To  give  your  person,  than  your  goods  away : 
And  therefore,  sir,  as  you  regard  your  rest, 
First  learn  your  lady's  qualities  at  least : 
Whether  she's  chaste  or  rampant,  proud  or  civil, 
Meek  as  a  saint,  or  haughty  as  the  devil ; 
Whether  an  easy,  fond  familiar  fool, 
Or  such  a  wit  as  no  man  e'er  can  rule. 
'Tis  true,  perfection  none  must  hope  to  find 
In  all  this  world,  much  less  in  womankind  ; 
But,  if  her  virtues  prove  the  larger  share, 
Bless  the  kind  Fates,  and  think  your  fortune  rare 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  161 

Ah,  gentle  sir,  take  warning  of  a  friend, 

Who  knows  too  well  the  state  you  thus  commend  ; 

And,  spite  of  all  his  praises,  must  declare, 

All  he  can  find  is  bondage,  cost,  and  care. 

Heaven  knows,  I  shed  full  many  a  private  tear, 

And  sigh  in  silence,  lest  the  world  should  hear ! 

While  all  my  friends  applaud  my  blissful  life, 

And  swear  no  mortal's  happier  in  a  wife ; 

Demure  and  chaste  as  any  vestal  nun, 

The  meekest  creature  that  beholds  the  sun  ! 

But,  by  the  immortal  powers,  I  feel  the  pain, 

And  he  that  smarts  has  reason  to  complain. 

Do  what  you  list,  for  me ;  you  must  be  sage, 

And  cautious  sure ;  for  wisdom  is  in  age  ; 

But  at  these  years,  to  venture  on  the  fair  ! 

By  him  who  made  the  ocean,  earth,  and  air, 

To  please  a  wife,  when  her  occasions  call, 

Would  busy  the  most  vigorous  of  us  all. 

And  trust  me,  sir,  the  chastest  you  can  choose 

Will  ask  observance,  and  exact  her  dues. 

If  what  I  speak  my  noble  lord  offend, 

My  tedious  sermon  here  is  at  an  end.' 

'  'Tis  well,  'tis  wondrous  well,'  the  knight  replies, 
Most  worthy  kinsman  ;  'faith  you're  mighty  wise  ! 
We,  sirs,  are  fools  ;  and  must  resign  the  cause 
To  heathenish  authors,  proverbs,  and  old  saws.' 
He  spoke  with  scorn,  and  turn'd  another  way  : — 
What  does  my  friend,  my  dear  Placebo,  say  ?' 

'  I  say,'  quoth  he,  '  by  Heaven  the  man's  to  blame, 
To  slander  wives,  and  wedlock's  holy  name. 
At  this  the  council  rose,  without  delay  ; 
Each,  in  his  own  opinion,  went  his  way ; 
With  full  consent,  that,  all  disputes  appeased, 
The  knight  should  marry,  when  and  where  he  pleased 

Who  now  but  January  exults  with  joy  : 
The  charms  of  wedlock  all  his  soul  employ. 
Each  nymph  by  turns  his  wavering  mind  possess'd, 
And  reign'd  the  short-lived  tyrant  of  his  breast ; 
11 


162 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


While  fancy  pictured  every  lively  part, 

And  each  bright  image  wander'd  o'er  his  heart. 

Thus,  in  some  public  forum  fix'd  on  high, 

A  mirror  shows  the  figures  moving  by ; 

Still  one  by  one,  in  swift  succession,  pass 

The  gliding  shadows  o'er  the  polish'd  glass. 

This  lady's  charms  the  nicest  conld  not  blame, 

But  vile  suspicions  had  aspersed  her  fame : 

That  was  with  sense,  but  not  with  virtue  bless'd ; 

And  one  had  grace,  that  wanted  all  the  rest. 

Thus  doubting  long  what  nymph  he  should  obey, 

He  fix'd  at  last  upon  the  youthful  May. 

Her  faults  he  knew  not,  Love  is  always  blind, 

But  every  charm  revolved  within  his  mind : 

Her  tender  age,  her  form  divinely  fair, 

Her  easy  motion,  her  attractive  air, 

Her  sweet  behaviour,  her  enchanting  face, 

Her  moving  softness  and  majestic  grace. 

Much  in  his  prudence  did  our  knight  rejoice, 
And  thought  no  mortal  could  dispute  his  choice ; 
Once  more  in  haste  he  summon'd  every  friend, 
And  told  them  all,  their  pains  were  at  an  end. 
'  Heaven  that  (said  he)  inspired  me  first  to  wed, 
Provides  a  consort  worthy  of  my  bed  : 
Let  none  oppose  the  election,  since  on  this 
Depends  my  quiet,  and  my  future  bliss. 

'  A  dame  there  is,  the  darling  of  my  eyes, 
Young,  beauteous,  artless,  innocent,  and  wise  ; 
Chaste,  though  not  rich;  and, though  not  nobly  bom 
Of  honest  parents,  and  may  serve  my  turn. 
Her  will  I  wed,  if  gracious  Heaven  so  please, 
To  pass  my  age  in  sanctity  and  ease : 
And  thank  the  powers,  I  may  possess  alone 
The  lovely  prize,  and  share  my  bliss  with  none  ! 
If  you,  my  friends,  this  virgin  can  procure, 
My  joys  are  full,  my  happiness  is  sure. 
'  One  only  doubt  remains  :  full  oft  I've  heard, 
Bv  casuists  grave,  and  deep  divines  averr'd, 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  163 

That  'tis  too  much  for  human  race  to  know 
The  bliss  of  heaven  above,  and  earth  below : 
Now  should  the  nuptial  pleasures  prove  so  great, 
To  match  the  blessings  of  the  future  state, 
Those  endless  joys  were  ill-exchanged  for  these. 
Then  clear  this  doubt,  and  set  my  mind  at  ease.* 

This  Justin  heard,  nor  could  his  spleen  control, 
Touch'd  to  the  quick,  and  tickled  at  the  soul. 
4  Sir  knight,'  he  cried,  'if  this  be  all  you  dread, 
Heaven  put  it  past  your  doubt,  whene'er  you  wed 
And  to  my  fervent  prayers  so  far  consent, 
That,  ere  the  rites  are  o'er  you  may  repent ! 
Good  Heaven,  no  doubt,  the  nuptial  state  approves, 
Since  it  chastises  still  what  best  it  loves. 
Then  be  not,  sir,  abandon'd  to  despair ; 
Seek,  and  perhaps  you'll  find  among  the  fair, 
One  that  may  do  your  business  to  a  hair : 
Not  e'en  in  wish,  your  happiness  delay, 
But  prove  the  scourge  to  lash  you  on  your  way. 
Then  to  the  skies  your  mounting  soul  shall  go, 
Swift  as  an  arrow  soaring  from  the  bow  ! 
Provided  still,  you  moderate  your  joy, 
Nor  in  your  pleasures  all  your  might  employ. 
Let  reason's  rule  your  strong  desires  abate, 
Nor  please  too  lavishly  your  gentle  mate. 
Old  wives  there  are,  of  judgment  most  acute, 
Who  solve  these  questions  beyond  all  dispute  ; 
Consult  with  those,  and  be  of  better  cheer ; 
Marry,  do  penance,  and  dismiss  your  fear.' 

So  said,  they  rose,  nor  more  the  work  delay'd ; 
The  match  was  offered,  the  proposals  made. 
The  parents,  you  may  think,  would  soon  comply  ; 
The  old  have  interest  ever  in  their  eye. 
Nor  was  it  hard  to  move  the  lady's  mind  ; 
When  fortune  favours,  still  the  fair  are  kind. 

I  pass  each  previous  settlement  and  deed, 
Too  long  for  me  to  write,  or  you  to  read  ; 
Nor  will  with  quaint  impertinence  display 
The  pomp,  the  pageantry,  <he  proud  array 


164         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  time  approach'd,  to  church  the  parties  went, 

At  once  with  carnal  and  devout  intent : 

Forth  came  the  priest,  and  bade  the  obedient  wife, 

Like  Sarah  or  Rebecca  lead  her  life  ; 

Then  pray'd  the  powers  the  fruitful  bed  to  bless, 

And  made  all  sure  enough  with  holiness. 

And  now  the  palace  gates  are  open'd  wide, 
The  guests  appear  in  order,  side  by  side, 
And  placed  in  state  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride. 
The  breathing  flute's  soft  notes  are  heard  around, 
And  the  shrill  trumpets  mix  their  silver  sound ; 
The  vaulted  roofs  with  echoing  music  ring, 
These  touch  the  vocal  stops,  and  those    the  trem> 

bling  string. 

Not  thus  Amphion  tuned  the  warbling  lyre, 
Nor  Joab  the  sounding  clarion  could  inspire, 
Nor  fierce  Theodamus,  whose  sprightly  strain 
Could  swell  the  soul  to   rage,  and  fire  the  martial 
train. 

Bacchus  himself,  the  nuptial  feast  to  grace, 
(So  poets  sing)  was  present  on  the  place  : 
And  lovely  Venus,  goddess  of  delight, 
Shook  high  her  flaming  torch  in  open  sight. 
And  danced  around,  and  smiled  on  every  knight: 
Pleased  her  best  servant  would  his  courage  try, 
No  less  in  wedlock,  than  in  liberty. 
Full  many  an  age  old  Hymen  had  not  spied 
So  kind  a  bridegroom,  or  so  bright  a  bride. 
Ye  bards  !  renown'd  among  the  tuneful  throng 
For  gentle  lays,  and  joyous  nuptial  song, 
Think  not  your  softest  numbers  can  display 
The  matchless  glories  of  the  blissful  day  : 
The  joys  are  such  as  far  transcend  your  rage, 
When  tender  youth  has  wedded  stooping  age. 

The  beauteous  dame  sat  smiling  at  the  board, 
And  darted  amorous  glances  at  her  loro. 
Not  Esther's  self,  whose  charms  the  Hebrews  King, 
E'er  look'd  so  lovely  on  her  Persian  king. 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  165 

Bright  as  the  rising  sun  in  summer's  day, 

And  fresh  and  blooming  as  the  month  of  May  . 

The  joyful  knight  survey'd  her  by  his  side; 

Nor  envied  Paris  with  the  Spartan  bride  -. 

Still  as  his  mind  revolved  with  vast  delight 

The  entrancing  raptures  of  the  approaching  night, 

Restless  he  sate,  invoking  every  power 

To  speed  his  bliss,  and  haste  the  happy  hour. 

Meantime  the  vigorous  dancers  beat  the  ground, 

And  songs  were  sung,  and  flowing  bowls  went  round ; 

With  odorous  spices  they  perfumed  the  place, 

And  mirth  and  pleasure  shone  in  every  face. 

Damian  alone  of  all  the  menial  train, 
Sad  in  the  midst  of  triumphs,  sigh'd  for  pain ; 
Damian  alone,  the  knight's  obsequious  'squire, 
Consumed  at  heart,  and  fed  a  secret  fire. 
His  lovely  mistress  all  his  soul  possess'd  ; 
He  look'd,  he  languish'd,  and  could  take  no  rest 
His  task  perform'd,  he  sadly  went  his  way, 
Fell  on  his  bed,  and  loathed  the  light  of  day. 
There  let  him  lie,  till  his  relenting  dame 
Weep  in  her  turn,  and  waste  in  equal  flame. 

The  wearied  sun,  as  learned  poets  write, 
Forsook  the  horizon,  and  roll'd  down  the  light ; 
While  glittering  stars  his  absent  beams  supply, 
And  night's  dark  mantle  overspread  the  sky. 
Then  rose  the  guests  :  and,  as  the  time  required, 
Each  paid  his  thanks,  and  decently  retired. 

The  foe  once  gone,  our  knight  prepared  to  undres% 
So  keen  he  was,  and  eager  to  possess : 
But  first  thought  fit  the  assistance  to  receive, 
Which  grave  physicians  scruple  not  to  give : 
Satyrion  near,  with  hot  eringos  stood, 
Cantharides,  to  fire  the  lazy  blood, 
Whose  use  old  bards  describe  in  luscious  rhymes, 
And  critics  learn'd  explain  to  modern  times. 
By  this  the  sheets  were  spread,  the  bride  undress'd, 
The  room  was  sprinkled,  and  the  bed  was  bless'd. 


166          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

What  next  ensued  beseems  not  me  to  say ; 

'Tis  sung,  he  labour' d  till  the  dawning  day, 

Then  briskly  sprung  from  bed,  with  heart  so  light, 

As  all  were  nothing  he  had  done  by  night ; 

And  sipp'd  his  cordial  as  he  sat  upright. 

He  kiss'd  his  balmy  spouse  with  wanton  play, 

And  feebly  sung  a  lusty  roundelay  : 

Then  on  the  couch  his  weary  limbs  he  cast : 

For  every  labour  must  have  rest  at  last. 

But  anxious  cares  the  pensive  'squire  oppress'd, 
Sleep  fled  his  eyes,  and  peace  forsook  his  breast  • 
The  raging  flames  that  in  his  bosom  dwell, 
He  wanted  art  to  hide,  and  means  to  tell ; 
Yet  hoping  time  the  occasion  might  betray, 
Composed  a  sonnet  to  the  lovely  May ; 
Which,  writ  and  folded  with  the  nicest  art, 
He  wrapp'd  in  silk,  and  laid  upon  his  heart. 

When  now  the  fourth  revolving  day  was  run, 
^'Twas  .June,  and  Cancer  had  received  the  sun,) 
Forth  from  her  chamber  came  the  beauteous  bride 
The  good  old  knight  moved  slowly  by  her  side. 
High  mass  was  sung ;  they  feasted  in  the  hall ; 
The  servants  round  stood  ready  at  their  call. 
The  'squire  alone  was  absent  from  the  board, 
And  much  his  sickness  grieved  his  worthy  lord, 
Who  pray'd  his  spouse,  attended  with  her  train. 
To  visit  Dainian,  and  divert  his  pain. 
The  obliging  dames  obey'd  with  one  consent  -, 
They  left  the  hall,  and  to  his  lodging  went. 
The  female  tribe  surround  him  as  he  lay, 
And  close  beside  him  sate  the  gentle  May  : 
Where,  as  she  tried  his  pulse,  he  softly  drew 
A  heaving  sigh,  and  cast  a  mournful  view  ! 
Then  gave  his  bill,  and  bribed  the  powers  divine 
With  secret  vows,  to  favour  his  design. 

Who  studies  now  but  discontented  May  ? 
On  her  soft  couch  uneasily  she  lay  ; 
The  lumpish  husband  snored  away  the  night, 
Till  coughs  awaked  him  near  the  morning  light 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  167 

What  then  he  did,  I'll  not  presume  to  tell, 
Nor  if  she  thought  herself  in  heaven  or  hell ; 
Honest  and  dull  in  nuptial  bed  they  lay, 
Till  the  bell  toll'd,  and  all  arose  to  pray. 

Were  it  by  forceful  destiny  decreed, 
Or  did  from  chance,  or  nature's  power  proceed  ; 
Or  that  some  star,  with  aspect  kind  to  love, 
Shed  its  selectest  influence  from  above  ; 
Whatever  was  the  cause,  the  tender  dame 
Felt  the  first  motions  of  an  infant  flame  ; 
Received  the  impressions  of  the  love-sick  'squire,- 
And  wasted  in  the  soft  infectious  fire. 

Ye  fair,  draw  near,  let  May's  example  move 
Your  gentle  minds  to  pity  those  who  love  ! 
Had  some  fierce  tyrant,  in  her  stead  been  found, 
The  poor  adorer  sure  had  hang'd  or  drown'd  .- 
Hut  she,  your  sex's  mirror,  free  from  pride, 
Was  much  too  meek  to  prove  a  homicide. 

But  to  my  tale  :  Some  sages  have  defined, 
Pleasure  the  sovereign  bliss  of  human-kind  : 
Our  knight  (who  studied  much,  we  may  suppose, 
Derived  his  high  philosophy  from  those  ! 
For,  like  a  prince,  he  bore  the  vast  expense 
Of  lavish  pomp,  and  proud  magnificence  : 
His  house  was  stately,  his  retinue  gay  ; 
Large  was  his  train,  and  gorgeous  his  array. 
His  spacious  garden,  made  to  yield  to  none, 
Was  compass'd  round  with  walls  of  solid  stone ; 
Priapus  could  not  half  describe  the  grace 
^Though  god  of  gardens)  of  this  charming  place 
A  place  to  tire  the  rambling  wits  of  France 
In  long  descriptions,  and  exceed  romance  ; 
Enough  to  shame  the  gentlest  bard  that  sings 
Of  painted  meadows,  and  of  purling  springs. 

Full  in  the  centre  of  the  flowery  ground, 
A  crystal  fountain  spread  its  streams  around 
The  fruitful  banks  with  verdant  laurels  crown'd  ; 
About  this  spring  (if  ancient  fame  say  true) 
The  dapper  elves  their  moon-light  sports  pursue; 


168         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Their  pigmy  king,  and  little  fairy  queen, 
In  circling  dances  gambol'd  on  the  green, 
While  tuneful  sprites  a  merry  concert  made, 
And  airy  music  warbled  through  the  shade. 

Hither  the  noble  knight  would  oft  repair 
(His  scene  of  pleasure,  and  peculiar  care.) 
For  this  he  held  it  dear,  and  always  bore 
The  silver  key  that  lock'd  the  garden  door. 
To  this  sweet  place,  in  summer's  sultry  heat, 
He  used  from  noise  and  business  to  retreat ; 
And  here  in  dalliance  spend  the  live-long  day 
Solus  cum  sola,  with  his  sprightly  May : 
For  whate'er  work  was  undischarged  a-bed, 
The  duteous  knight  in  this  fair  garden  sped. 

But  ah  !  what  mortal  lives  of  bliss  secure  ? 
How  short  a  space  our  worldly  joys  endure  ! 
O  Fortune,  fair,  like  all  thy  treacherous  kind, 
But  faithless  still,  and  wavering  as  the  wind  ! 
O  painted  monster,  form'd  mankind  to  cheat 
With  pleasing  poison,  and  with  soft  deceit ! 
This  rich,  this  amorous,  venerable  knight, 
Amidst  his  ease,  his  solace,  and  delight, 
Struck  blind  by  thee,  resigns  his  days  to  grief, 
And  calls  on  death,  the  wretch's  last  relief. 

The  rage  of  jealousy  then  seized  his  mind, 
For  much  he  fear'd  the  faith  of  womankind. 
His  wife,  not  suffered  from  his  side  to  stray, 
Was  captive  kept ;  he  watch'd  her  night  and  day 
Abridged  her  pleasures,  and  confin'd  her  sway. 
Full  oft  in  tears  did  hapless  May  complain, 
And  sigh'd  full  oft ;  but  sigh'd  and  wept  in  vain : 
She  Ibok'd  on  Damian  with  a  lover's  eye ; 
For,  oh  !  'twas  fix'd,  she  must  possess  or  die  ! 
Nor  less  impatience  vex'd  her  amorous  'squire, 
Wild  with  delay,  and  burning  with  desire. 
Watch'd  as  she  was,  yet  could  he  not  refrain 
By  secret  writing  to  disclose  his  pain  : 
The  dame  by  sighs  reveal'd  her  kind  intent, 
Till  both  were  conscious  what  each  other  meant. 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  169 

Ah  !  gentle  knight,  what  could  thy  eyes  avail, 
Though  they  could  see  as  far  as  ships  can  sail  ? 
'Tis  better,  sure,  when  blind,  dcceiv'd  to  be, 
Than  be  deluded  when  a  man  can  see  ! 

Argus  himself,  so  cautious  and  so  wise, 
Was  over-watch'd,  for  all  his  hundred  eyes  : 
So  many  an  honest  husband  may,  'tis  known, 
Who,  wisely,  never  thinks  the  case  his  own. 

The  dame  at  last,  by  diligence  and  care, 
Procured  the  key  her  knight  was  wont  to  bear : 
She  took  the  wards  in  wax  before  the^  fire, 
And  gave  the  impression  to  the  trusty  'squire. 
By  means  of  this,  some  wonder  shall  appear, 
Which,  in  due  place  and  season,  you  may  hear. 

Well  sung  sweet  Ovid,  in  the  days  of  yore, 
What  slight  is  that  which  love  will  not  explore  ? 
\nd  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  plainly  show 
The  feats  true  lovers,  when  they  list,  can  do : 
Though  watch' d  and  captive,  yet  in  spite  of  all, 
They  found  the  art  of  kissing  through  a  wall. 

But  now  no  longer  from  our  tale  to  stray  : 
It  happ'd,  that  once  upon  a  summer's  day, 
Our  reverend  knight  was  urged  to  amorous  play  . 
He  raised  his  spouse  ere  matin  bell  was  rung, 
And  thus  his  morning  canticle  he  sung; 

'Awake,  my  love,  disclose  thy  radiant  eyes  : 
Arise,  my  wife,  my  beauteous  lady,  rise  ! 
Hear  how  the  doves  with  pensive  notes  complain, 
And  in  soft  murmurs  tell  the  trees  their  pain  ; 
The  winter 's  past ;  the  clouds  and  tempests  fly ; 
The   sun  adorns  the  fields,  and  brightens  all    tho 

sky. 

Fair  without  spot,  whose  every  charming  part 
My  bosom  wounds,  and  captivates  my  heart; 
Come,  and  in  mutual  pleasures  let  's  engage, 
Joy  of  my  life,  and  comfort  of  my  age.' 

This  heard,  to  Damian  straight  a  sign  she  made. 
To  haste  before  ;  the  '-"-fie  'squire  obey'd  : 


170 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Secret  and  undescried,  he  took  his  way, 
And  ambush'd  close  behind  an  arbour  lay. 

It  was  not  long  ere  January  came, 
And  hand  in  hand  with  him  his  lovely  dame ; 
Blind  as  he  was,  not  doubting  all  was  sure, 
He  turn'd  the  key,  and  made  the  gate  secure. 

'  Here  let  us  walk,'  he  said, '  observed  by  none 
Conscious  of  pleasures  to  the  world  unktiown ; 
So  may  my  soul  have  joy,  as  thou,  my  wife, 
Art  far  the  dearest  solace  of  my  life; 
And  rather  would  I  choose,  by  Heaven  above, 
To  die  this  instant,  than  to  lose  thy  love. 
Reflect  what  truth  was  in  my  passion  shown, 
When  unendow'd  I  took  thee  for  my  own, 
And  sought  no  treasure  but  thy  heart  alone. 
Old  as  I  am,  and  now  deprived  of  sight, 
Whilst  thou  art  faithful  to  thy  own  true  knight, 
Nor  age  nor  blindness  rob  me  of  delight. 
Each  other  loss  with  patience  I  can  bear: 
The  loss  of  thee  is  what  I  only  fear. 

'  Consider  then,  my  lady,  and  my  wife, 
The  solid  comforts  of  a  virtuous  life. 
As,  first,  the  love  of  Christ  himself  you  gain  , 
Next,  your  own  honour  undefiled  maintain  ; 
And  lastly,  that  which  sure  your  mind  must  move, 
My  whole  estate  shall  gratify  your  love  : 
Make  your  own  terms,  and  ere  to-morrow's  sun 
Displays  his  light,  by  Heaven,  it  shall  be  done. 
I  seal  the  contract  with  a  holy  kiss, 
And  will  perform,  by  this — my  dear,  and  this — 
Have  comfort,  spouse,  nor  think  thy  lord  unkind ; 
"Tis  love,  not  jealousy,  that  fires  my  mind. 
For  when  thy  charms  my  sober  thoughts  engage, 
And  join'd  to  them  my  own  unequal  age, 
From  thy  dear  side  I  have  no  power  to  part, 
Such  secret  transports  warm  my  melting  heart. 
For  who,  that  once  possess'd  those  heavenly  charm*, 
Could  live  one  moment  absent  from  thy  arms  ?' 


JANUARY  AND  MAY. 


171 


He  ceas'd,  and  May  with  modest  grace  replied, 
(Weak  was  her  voice,  as  while  she  spoke  she  cried,) 

Heaven  knows,'  with  that  a  tender  sigh  she  drew, 

I  have  a  soul  to  save  as  well  as  you ; 
And,  what  no  less  you  to  my  charge  commend, 
My  dearest  honour,  will  to  death  defend. 
To  you  in  holy  church  I  gave  my  hand, 
And  joined  my  heart  in  wedlock's  sacred  band  : 
Yet,  after  this,  if  you  distrust  my  care, 
Then  hear,  my  lord,  and  witness  what  I  swear : 

'  First  may  the  yawning  earth  her  bosom  rend, 
And  let  me  hence  to  hell  alive  descend  ; 
Or  die  the  death  I  dread  no  less  than  hell, 
Sew'd  in  a  sack,  and  plung'd  into  a  well, 
Ere  I  my  fame  by  one  lewd  act  disgrace, 
Or  once  renounce  the  honour  of  my  race : 
For  know,  sir  knight,  of  gentle  blood  I  came ; 
I  loath  a  whore,  and  startle  at  the  name. 
But  jealous  men  on  their  own  crimes  reflect, 
And  learn  from  hence  their  ladies  to  suspect . 
Else  why  these  needless  cautions,  sir,  to  me  ? 
These  doubts  and  fears  of  female  constancy  ? 
This  chime  still  rings  in  every  lady's  ear, 
The  only  strain  a  wife  must  hope  to  hear.' 

Thus  while  she  spoke  a  sidelong  glance  she  cast, 
Where  Damian,  kneeling,  worshipp'd  as  she  pass'd 
She  saw  him  watch  the  motions  of  her  eye, 
And  singled  out  a  pear-tree  planted  nigh  : 
'Twas  charged  with  fruit  that  made  a  goodly  show, 
And  hung  with  dangling  pears  was  every  bough. 
Thither  the  obsequious  'squire  address'd  his  pace, 
And,  climbing,  in  the  summit  took  his  place  ; 
The  knight  and  lady  walk'd  beneath  in  view, 
Where  let  us  leave  them,  and  our  tale  pursue. 

'Twas  now  the  season  when  the  glorious  sun 
His  heavenly  progress  through  the  Twins  had  run  • 
And  Jove,  exalted,  his  mild  influence  yields, 
To  glad  the  glebe,  and  paint  the  flowery  fields. 


172 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 


Clear  was  the  day,  and  Phoebus,  rising  bright, 
Had  streak'd  the  azure  firmament  with  light : 
He  pierced  the  glittering  clouds  with  golden  streams 
And  warm'd  the  womb  of  earth  with  genial  beams 

It  so  befell,  in  that  fair  morning-tide, 
The  fairies  sported  on  the  garden-side, 
And  in  the  midst  their  monarch  and  his  bride. 
So  featly  tripp'd  the  light-foot  ladies  round, 
The  knights  so  nimbly  o'er  the  greensward  bound, 
That  scarce  they  bent  the  flowers,  or  touch'd  the 

ground. 

The  dances  ended,  all  the  fairy  train 
For  pinks  and  daisies  search'd  the  flowery  plain  ; 
While,  on  a  bank  reclined  of  rising  green, 
Thus,  with  a  frown,  the  king  bespoke  his  queen : 

'  'Tis  too  apparent,  argue  what  you  can, 
The  treachery  you  women  use  to  man : 
A  thousand  authors  have  this  truth  made  out, 
And  sad  experience  leaves  no  room  for  doubt. 

4  Heaven  rest  thy  spirit,  noble  Solomon, 
A  wiser  monarch  never  saw  the  sun  ; 
All  wealth,  all  honours,  the  supreme  degree 
Of  earthly  bliss,  was  well  bestow'd  on  thee  ! 
For  sagely  hast  thou  said :  "  Of  all  mankind, 
One  only  just  and  righteous  hope  to  find  : 
But  shouldst  thou  search  the  spacious  world  around, 
Yet  one  good  woman  is  not  to  be  found." 

'  Thus   says    the   king   who  knew  your  wicked 

ness : 

The  son  of  Sirach  testifies  no  less. 
So  may  some  wildfire  on  your  bodies  fall, 
Or  some  devouring  plague  consume  you  all ; 
As  well  you  view  the  lecher  in  the  tree, 
And  well  this  honourable  knight  you  see : 
But  since  he's  blind  and  old  (a  helpless  case,) 
His  squire  shall  cuckold  him  before  your  face. 

'  Now,  by  my  own  dread  majesty  I  swear, 
And  by  this  awful  sceptre  which  I  bear, 


JANUARY  AND  MAY. 


173 


No  impious  wretch  shall  'scape  unpunish'd  lo,ng. 

That  in  my  presence  offers  such  a  wrong. 

I  will  this  instant  undeceive  the  knight, 

And  in  the  very  act  restore  his  sight ; 

And  set  the  strumpet  here  in  open  view, 

A  warning  to  these  ladies,  and  to  you, 

And  all  the  faithless  sex,  for  ever  to  be  true.' 

'  And  will  you  so,'  replied  the  queen, '  indeed  ? 
Now,  by  mother's  soul,  it  is  decreed, 
She  shall  not  want  an  answer  at  her  need. 
For  her,  and  for  her  daughters,  I'll  engage, 
4nd  all  the  sex  in  each  succeeding  age  ! 
Art  shall  be  theirs,  to  varnish  an  offence, 
And  fortify  their  crime  with  confidence. 
Nay,  were  they  taken  in  a  strict  embrace, 
Seen  with  both  eyes,  and  pinion'd  on  the  place  ; 
All  they  shall  need  is  to  protest  and  swear, 
Breathe  a  soft  sigh,  and  drop  a  tender  tear  ; 
Till  their  wise  husbands,  gull'd  by  arts  like  these, 
Grow  gentle,  tractable,  and  tame  as  geese. 

'  What  though  this  slanderous  Jew,  this  Solomor^ 
Call'd  women  fools,  and  knew  full  many  a  one ; 
The  wiser  wits  of  later  times  declare, 
How  constant,  chaste,  and  virtuous,  women  are. 
Witness  the  martyrs,  who  resign'd  their  breath, 
Serene  in  torments,  unconcern'd  in  death, 
And  witness  next  what  Roman  authors  tell, 
How  Arria,  Portia,  and  Lucretia  fell. 

'  But,  since  the  sacred  leaves  to  all  are  free, 
And  men  interpret  texts,  why  should  not  we  ? 
By  this  no  more  was  meant,  than  to  have  shown, 
That  sovereign  goodness  dwells  in  him  alone 
Who  only  is,  and  is  but  only  One. 
But  grant  the  worst ;  shall  women  then  be  weigh'd 
By  every  word  that  Solomon  has  said  ? 
What  though  this  king  (as  ancient  story  boasts) 
Built  a  fair  temple  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts  ; 
He  ceased  at  last  his  Maker  to  adore, 
And  did  as  much  for  idol-gods,  or  more. 


174          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Beware  what  lavish  praises  you  confer 

On  a  rank  lecher  and  idolater  ; 

Whose  reign,  indulgent  God,  says  holy  writ, 

Did  but  for  David's  righteous  sake  permit ; 

David,  the  monarch  after  Heaven's  own  mind, 

Who  loved  our  sex,  and  honour'd  all  our  kind. 

'  Well,  I'm  a  woman,  and  as  such  must  speak  ; 
Silence  would  swell  me,  and  my  heart  would  break 
Know  then,  I  scorn  your  dull  authorities, 
Your  idle  wits,  and  all  their  learned  lies. 
By  Heaven,  those  authors  are  our  sex's  foes, 
Whom,  in  our  right,  I  must  and  will  oppose.' 

'  Nay,'  quoth  the  king,  '  dear  madam,  be  not  wroth 
I  yield  it  up ;  but  since  I  gave  my  oath, 
That  this  much-injured  knight  again  should  see, 
It  must  be  done — I  am  a  king,'  said  he, 
'  And  one,  whose  faitli  has  ever  sacred  been.' 
'  And  so  has  mine,'  said  she, — '  I  am  a  queen  ; 
Her  answer  she  shall  have,  I  undertake ; 
And  thus  an  end  of  all  dispute  I  make. 
Try  when  you  list;  and  you  shall  find,  my  lord. 
It  is  not  in  our  sex  to  break  our  word.' 

We  leave  them  here  in  this  heroic  strain, 
And  to  the  knight  our  story  turns  again  ; 
Who  in  the  garden,  with  his  lovely  May, 
Sung  merrier  than  the  cuckow  or  the  jay  : 
This  was  his  song  ;  '  Oh,  kind  and  constant  be, 
Constant  and  kind  I'll  ever  prove  to  thee.' 

Thus  singing  as  ho  went,  at  last  he  drew 
By  easy  steps,  to  where  the  pear-tree  grew  : 
The  longing  dame  look'd  up,  and  spied  her  love 
Full  fairly  perch'd  among  the  boughs  above. 
She  stopp'd  and  sighing  :  '  Oh,  good  gods  !'  she  cried, 
What  pangs,  what  sudden  shoots,  distend  my  side ! 
O  for  that  tempting  fruit,  so  fresh,  so  green  : 
Help,  for  the  love  of  heaven's  immortal  queen  ! 
Help,  dearest  lord,  and  save  at  once  the  life 
Of  thy  p<;or  infant,  and  thy  longing  wife!' 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  17fl 

Sore  sigh'd  the  knight  to  hear  his  lady's  cry, 
But  could  not  climb,  and  had  no  servant  nigh  : 
Old  as  he  was,  and  void  of  eye-sight  too, 
What  could,  alas  !  a  helpless  husband  do  ? 
And  must  1  languish  then,'  she  said,  '  and  die, 
Yet  view  the  lovely  fruit  before  my  eye  ? 
At  least,  kind  sir,  for  charity's  sweet  sake, 
Vouchsafe  the  trunk  between  your  arms  to  take, 
Then  from  your  back  I  might  ascend  the  tree  ; 
Do  you  but  stoop,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.' 
'  With  all  my  soul,'  he  thus  replied  again  : 
4  I'd  spend  my  dearest  blood  to  ease  thy  pain.' 
\Vith  that,  his  back  against  the  trunk  he  bent, 
She  seized  a  twig,  and  up  the  tree  she  went. 

Now  prove  your  patience,  gentle  ladies  all ! 
Nor  let  on  me  your  heavy  anger  fall : 
'Tis  truth  I  tell,  though  not  in  phrase  refined  ; 
Though  blunt  my  tale,  yet  honest  is  my  mind. 
What  feats  the  lady  in  the  tree  might  do, 
I  pass,  as  gambols  never  known  to  you  ; 
But  sure  it  was  a  merrier  fit,  she  swore, 
Than  in  her  life  she  ever  felt  before. 

In  that  nice  moment,  lo  !  the  wondering  knight 
Look'd  out,  and  stood  restored  to  sudden  sight. 
Straight  on  the  tree  his  eager  eyes  he  bent, 
As  one  whose  thoughts  were  on  his  spouse  intent ; 
But  when  he  saw  his  bosom-wife  so  dress'd, 
His  rage  was  such  as  cannot  be  express'd  : 
Not  frantic  mothers,  when  their  infants  die, 
With  louder  clamours  rend  the  vaulted  sky  : 
He  cried,  he  roar'd,  he  storm'd,  he  tore  his  hair : 
Death  !  hell !  and  furies  !  what  dost  thou  do  there? 
4  What  ails  my  lord?'  the  trembling  dame  replied 
I  thought  your  patience  had  been  better  tried  . 
Is  this  your  love,  ungrateful  and  unkind, 
This  my  reward  for  having  cured  the  blind  ? 
Why  was  I  taught  to  make  my  husband  see, 
By  struggling  with  a  man  upon  a  tree  ? 


176          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Did  I  for  this  the  power  of  magic  prove  ? 
Unhappy  wife,  whose  crime  was  too  much  love  !' 

'  If  this  be  struggling,  by  his  holy  light, 
'Tis  struggling  with  a  vengeance,'  quoth  the  knighl 
So  Heaven  preserve  the  sight  it  has  restored, 
As  with  these  eyes  I  plainly  saw  thee  whored; 
Whored  by  my  slave — perfidious  wretch  !  may  hell 
As  surely  seize  thee,  as  I  saw  too  well !' 

'Guard  me,  good  angels !'  cried  the  gentle  May. 
'  Pray  Heaven,  this  magic  work  the  proper  way ! 
Alas,  my  love  !  'tis  certain,  could  you  see, 
You  ne'er  had  used  these  killing  words  to  me  : 
So  help  me,  Fates,  as  'tis  no  perfect  sight, 
But  some  faint  glimmering  of  a  doubtful  light.' 

'  What  I  have  said,'  quoth  he,  '  I  must  maintain, 
For  by  the  immortal  powers  it  seem'd  too  plain.' — 

'  By  all  those  powers,  some  frenzy  seized  your  mind, 
Replied  the  dame  :  '  are  these  the  thanks  I  find  ? 
Wretch  that  I  am,  that  e'er  I  was  so  kind,' 
She  said  :  a  rising  sigh  express'd  her  woe, 
The  ready  tears  apace  began  to  flow, 
And,  as  they  fell,  she  wiped  from  either  eye, 
The  drops  ;  (for  women,  when  they  list,  can  cry.) 

The  knight  was  touch'd,  and  in  his  looks  appear'd 
Signs  of  remorse,  while  thus  his  spouse  he  cheer'd. 
'  Madam,  'tis  pass'd,  and  my  short  anger  o'er ; 
Cotne  down,  and  vex  your  tender  heart  no  more : 
Excuse  me,  dear,  if  aught  amiss  was  said, 
For,  on  my  soul,  amends  shall  soon  be  made : 
Let  my  repentance  your  forgiveness  draw. 
By  Heaven,  1  swore  but  what  I  thought  I  saw.' 

'  Ah,  my  loved  lord !  'twas  much  unkind,'  she  cried, 
'  On  bare  suspicion  thus  to  treat  your  bride. 
But,  till  your  sight 's  establish'd,  for  a  while, 
Imperfect  objects  may  your  sense  beguile. 
Thus  when  from  sleep  we  first  our  eyes  display, 
The  balls  are  wounded  with  the  piercing  ray, 
And  dusky  vapours  rise,  and  intercept  the  day. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH.  177 

So,  just  recovering  from  the  shades  of  night, 
Your  swimming  eyes  are  dronk  with  sudden  light, 
Strange  phantoms  dance  around,  and  skim  befcro 

your  sight : 

Then,  sir,  be  cautious,  nor  too  rashly  deem. 
Heaven  knows  how  seldom  things  are  what  they  seem! 
Consult  your  reason,  and  you  soon  shall  find 
Twas  you  were  jealous,  not  your  wife  unkind: 
Jove  ne'er  spoke  oracle  more  true  than  this, 
None  judge  so  wrong  as  those  who  think  amiss.' 

With  that  she  leap'd  into  her  lord's  embrace, 
With  well-dissembled  virtue  in  her  face. 
He  hugg'd  her  close,  and  kiss'd  her  o'er  and  o'er, 
Disturb'd  with  doubts  and  jealousies  no  more  : 
Both,  pleased  and  bless'd,  renew'd  their  mutual  vows, 
A  fruitful  wife,  and  a  believing  spouse. 

Thus  ends  our  tale ;  whose  moral  next  to  make, 
Let  all  wise  husbands  hence  example  take : 
And  pray,  to  crown  the  pleasure  of  their  lives, 
To  be  so  well  deluded  by  their  wives. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH. 
HER  PROLOGUE. 

FROM    CHAUCER. 

BEHOLD  the  woes  of  matrimonial  life, 

And  hear  with  reverence  an  experienced  wife. 

To  dear-bought  wisdom  give  the  credit  due, 

And  think  for  once  a  woman  tells  you  true. 

In  all  these  trials  I  have  borne  a  part, 

I  was  myself  the  scourge  that  caused  the  smart ; 

For,  since  fifteen,  in  triumph  have  1  led 

Five  captive  husbands  from  the  church  to  bed. 

Christ  saw  a  wedding  once,  the  Scripture  says, 
And  saw  but  one,  'tis  thought,  in  all  his  days : 
12 


178         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Whence  some  infer,  whose  conscience  is  too  nice, 
No  pious  Christian  ought  to  marry  twice. 

But  let  them  read,  and  solve  me,  if  they  can, 
The  words  address'd  to  the  Samaritan  : 
Five  times  in  lawful  wedlock  she  was  join'd ; 
And  sure  the  certain  stint  was  ne'er  defined. 

'  Increase  and  multiply,'  was  Heaven's  command. 
And  that's  a  text  I  clearly  understand. 
This  too,  '  Let  men  their  sires  and  mothers  leave, 
And  to  their  dearer  wives  for  ever  cleave.' 
More  wives  than  one  by  Solomon  were  tried, 
Or  else  the  wisest  of  mankind  's  belied. 
I've  had  myself  full  many  a  merry  fit, 
And  trust  in  heaven,  I  may  have  many  yet ; 
For  when  my  transitory  spouse,  unkind, 
Shall  die,  and  leave  his  woful  wife  behind, 
I'll  take  the  next  good  Christian  I  can  find. 

Paul,  knowing  one  could  never  serve  our  turn 
Declared  'twas  better  far  to  wed  than  burn. 
There's  danger  in  assembling  fire  and  tow ; 
I  grant  them  that,  and  what  it  means  you  know. 
The  same  apostle  too  has  elsewhere  own'd, 
No  precept  for  virginity  he  found  : 
'Tis  but  a  counsel — and  we  women  still 
Take  which  we  like,  the  counsel,  or  our  will. 

I  envy  not  their  bliss,  if  he  or  she 
Think  fit  to  live  in  perfect  chastity. 
Pure  let  them  be,  and  free  from  taint  of  vice ; 
I,  for  a  few  slight  spots,  am  not  so  nice. 
Heaven  calls  us  different  ways,  on  these  bsstows 
One  proper  gift,  another  grants  to  those  : 
Not  every  man's  obliged  to  sell  his  store, 
And  give  up  all  his  substance  to  the  poor; 
Such  as  are  perfect  may,  I  can't  deny ; 
But,  by  your  leaves,  divines,  so  am  not  I. 

Full  many  a  saint,  since  first  the  world  began. 
Lived  an  unspotted  maid,  in  spite  of  man  : 
Let  such  (a  God's  name)  with  fine  wheat  be  fed, 
And  let  us  honest  wives  eat  barley  bread . 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH.  17» 

For  me,  I'll  keep  the  post  assign'd  by  Hf.aven, 
And  use  the  copious  talent  it  has  given : 
Let  my  good  spouse  pay  tribute,  do  me  right, 
And  keep  an  equal  reckoning  every  night. 
His  proper  body  is  not  his,  but  mine  ; 
For  so  said  Paul,  and  Paul's  a  sound'divine. 

Know  then,  of  those  five  husbands  I  have  had, 
Three  were  just  tolerable,  two  were  bad : 
The  three  were  old,  but  rich  and  fond  beside, 
And  toil'd  most  piteously  to  please  their  bride: 
But  since  their  wealth  (the  best  they  had)  was  mine, 
The  rest,  without  much  loss,  I  could  resign. 
Sure  to  be  loved,  I  took  no  pains  to  please, 
Yet  had  more  pleasure  far  than  they  had  ease. 

Presents  flow'd  in  apace:  with  showers  of  gold, 
They  made  their  court,  like  Jupiter  of  old. 
If  I  but  smiled,  a  sudden  youth  they  found, 
And  a  new  palsy  seized  them  when  I  frown'd. 

Ye  sovereign  wives !  give  ear  and  understand, 
Thus  shall  ye  speak,  and  exercise  command. 
For  never  was  it  given  to  mortal  man, 
To  lie  so  boldly  as  we  women  can ; 
Forswear  the  fact,  though  seen  with  both  his  eyes. 
And  call  your  maids  to  witness  how  he  lies. 

'Hark,  old  sir  Paul !'  'twas  thus  I  used  to  say, 
'  Whence  is  our  neighbour's  wife  so  rich  and  gay  ? 
Treated,  caress'd  where'er  she's  pleased  to  roam — 
I  sit  in  tatters,  and  immured  at  home. 
Why  to  her  house  dost  thou  so  oft  repair  ? 
Art  thou  so  amorous  ?  and  is  she  so  fair  ? 
If  I  but  see  a  cousin  or  a  friend, 
Lord  !  how  you  swell,  and  rage  like  any  fiend ! 
But  you  reel  home,  a  drunken  beastly  bear, 
Then  preach  till  midnight  in  your  easy  chair ; 
Cry,  wives  are  false,  and  every  woman  evil, 
And  give  up  all  that's  female  to  the  devil. 

'If  poor  (you  say)  she  drains  her  husband's  purse 
If  rich,  she  keeps  her  priest,  or  something  worse ; 


180          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

If  hig}uy  born,  intolerably  vain, 

Vapoiws  and  pride  by  turns  possess  her  brain, 

Now  gaily  mad,  now  sourly  splenetic ; 

Freakish  when  well,  and  fretful  when  she's  sick. 

If  fair,  then  chaste  she  cannot  long  abide, 

By  pressing  youth  attack'd  on  every  side ; 

If  foul,  her  wealth  the  lusty  lover  lures, 

Or  else  her  wit  some  fool-gallant  procures, 

Or  else  she  dances  with  becoming  grace, 

Or  shape  excuses  the  defects  of  face. 

There  swims  no  goose  so  gray,  but,  soon  or  late, 

She  finds  some  honest  gander  for  her  mate. 

'  Horses  (thou  say'st)  and  asses  men  may  try, 
And  ring  suspected  vessels  ere  they  buy : 
But  wives,  a  random  choice,  untried  they  take, 
They  dream  in  courtship,  but  in  wedlock  wake  : 
Then,  nor  till  then,  the  veil's  removed  away, 
And  all  the  woman  glares  in  open  day. 

'  You  tell  me,  to  preserve  your  wife's  good  grace 
Your  eyes  must  always  languish  on  my  face, 
Your  tongue  with  constant  flatteries  feed  rny  ear, 
And  tag  each  sentence  with,  My  Jife  !  My  dear  ! 
If  by  strange  chance,  a  modest  blush  be  raised, 
Be  sure  my  fine  complexion  must  be  praised. 
My  garments  always  must  be  new  and  gay, 
And  feasts  still  kept  upon  my  wedding-day. 
Then  must  my  nurse  be  pleased,  and  favourite  mai<t 
And  endless  treats,  and  endless  visits  paid, 
To  a  long  train  of  kindred  friends,  allies. 
;VI1  this  thou  say'st,  and  all  thou  say'st  are  lies. 

'  On  Jenkin  too  you  cast  a  squinting  eye ; 
What !  can  your  'prentice  raise  your  jealousy  7 
Fresh  are  his  ruddy  cheeks,  his  forehead  fair, 
And  like  the  burnish'd  gold  his  curling  hair. 
But  clear  thy  wrinkled  brow,  and  quit  thy  sorrow, 
I'd  scorn  your  'prentice,  should  you  die  to-morrow 

'  Why  are  thy  chests  all  lock'd  Ton  what  design  ? 
Are  not  thy  worldly  goods  and  treas'jre  mine  ? 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH. 


161 


Sir,  I'm  no  fool ;  nor  shall  you,  by  St.  John, 
Have  goods  and  body  to  yourself  alone. 
One  you  shall  quit,  in  spite  of  both  your  eyes-— 
I  heed,  not  I,  the  bolts,  the  locks,  the  spies. 
If  you  had  wit,  you'd  say, '  Go  where  you  wil: 
Dear  spouse,  I  credit  not  the  tales  they  tell : 
Take  all  the  freedoms  of  a  marr'e'1  *ife  ; 
I  know  thee  for  a  virtuous,  faitnful  wife.' 

'  Lord  !  when  you  have  enough,  what  need  you  caro 
How  merrily  soever  others  fare  ? 
Though  all  the  day  I  give  and  take  delight, 
Doubt  not,  sufficient  will  be  left  at  night. 
'Tis  but  a  just  and  rational  desire, 
To  light  a  taper  at  a  neighbour's  fire. 

'  There's  danger  too,  you  think,  in  rich  array, 
And  none  can  long  be  modest  that  are  gay : 
The  cat,  if  you  but  singe  her  tabby  skin, 
The  chimney  keeps,  and  sits  content  within ; 
But  once  grown  sleek,  will  from  her  corner  run, 
Sport  with  her  tail,  and  wanton  in  the  sun  ; 
She  licks  her  fair  round  face,  and  frisks  abroad, 
To  show  her  fur,  and  to  be  catterwaw'd.' 

Lo  thus,  my  friends,  I  wrought  to  my  desires 
These  three  right  ancient  venerable  sires. 
I  told  them,  thus  you  say,  and  thus  you  do, 
And  told  them  false,  but  Jenkin  swore  'twas  true. 
I,  like  a  dog,  could  bite  as  well  as  whine, 
And  first  complain'd,  whene'er  the  guilt  was  mine. 
I  tax'd  them  oft  with  wenching  and  amours, 
When  their  weak  legs  scarce  dragg'd  them  out  of  doon 
And  swore  the  rambles  that  I  took  by  night, 
Were  all  to  spy  what  damsels  they  bedight. 
That  colour  brought  me  many  hours  of  mirth ; 
For  all  this  wit  is  given  us  from  our  birth. 
Heaven  gave  to  women  the  peculiar  grace, 
To  spin,  to  weep,  and  cully  human  race. 
By  this  nice  conduct,  and  this  prudent  course, 
By  murmuring,  wheedling,  stratagem,  and  force, 


182          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

I  still  prevail'd,  and  would  be  in  the  right, 

Or  curtain-lectures  made  a  restless  night. 

If  once  my  husband's  arm  was  o'er  my  side, 

'What!  so  familiar  with  your  spouse?'  I  cried  : 

I  levied  first  a  tax  upon  his  need ; 

Then  let  him — 'twas  a.  nicety  indeed  ! 

Let  all  mankind  thi<s  certain  maxim  hold, 

Marry  who  will,  our  sex  is  to  be  sold. 

With  empty  hands  no  tassels  you  can  lure, 

But  fulsome  love  for  gain  we  can  endure : 

For  gold  we  love  the  impotent  and  old, 

And  heave,  and  pant,  and  kiss,  and  cling,  for  gold 

Yet  with  embraces,  curses  oft  I  mix'd, 

Then  kiss'd  again,  and  chid,  and  rail'd  betwixt. 

Well,  I  may  make  my  will  in  peace,  and  die, 

For  not  one  word  in  man's  arrears  am  I. 

To  drop  a  dear  dispute  I  was  unable, 

E'en  though  the  Pope  himself  had  sat  at  table. 

But  when  my  point  was  gain'd,  then  thus  I  spoke  : 

'Billy,  my  dear,  how  sheepishly  you  look! 

Approach,  my  spouse,  and  let  me  kiss  thy  cheek, 

Thou  shouldst  be  always  thus,  resign'd  and  meek  ! 

Of  Job's  great  patience  since  so  oft  you  preach, 

Well  should  you  practice,  who  so  well  can  teach. 

'Tis  difficult  to  do,  I  must  allow, 

But  I,  my  dearest,  will  instruct  you  how. 

Great  is  the  blessing  of  a  prudent  wife, 

Who  puts  a  period  to  domestic  strife. 

One  of  us  two  must  rule,  and  one  obey, 

And  since  in  man  right  reason  bears  the  sway, 

Let  that  frail  thing,  weak  woman,  have  her  way. 

The  wives  of  all  myfamily  have  ruled 

Their  tender  husbands,  and  their  passions  cool'd, 

Fie,  'tis  unmanly  thus  to  sigh  and  groan  : 

What!  would  you  have  me  to  yourself  alone  ? 

Why  take  me,  love  !  take  all  and  every  part '. 

Here's  your  revenge !  you  love  it  at  your  heart. 

Would  I  vouchsafe  to  sell  what  nature  gave, 

VTou  little  think  what  custom  I  could  have. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH.  183 

But  see  !  I'm  all  your  own — nay  hold — for  shame! 
What  means  my  dear — indeed — you  are  to  blame.' 

Thus  with  my  first  three  lords  I  pass'd  my  life, 
A  very  woman  and  a  very  wife. 
What  sums  from  these  old  spouses  I  could  raise, 
Procured  young  husbands  in  my  riper  days. 
Though  past  my  bloom,  not  yet  decay'd  was  I, 
Wanton  and  wild,  and  chatter'd  like  a  pie. 
In  country  dances  still  I  bore  the  bell, 
And  sung  as  sweet  as  evening  Philomel. 
To  clear  my  quailpipe,  and  refresh  my  soul, 
Full  oft  1  drain'd  the  spicy  nut-brown  bowl ; 
Rich  luscious  wines,  that  youthful  blood  improve, 
And  warm  the  swelling  veins  to  feats  of  love: 
For  'tis  as  sure,  as  cold  engenders  hail, 
A  liquorish  mouth  must  have  a  lecherous  tail : 
Wine  lets  no  lover  unrewarded  go, 
As  all  true  gamesters  by  experience  know. 
But  oh,  good  gods  !  whene'er  a  thought  I  cast 
On  all  the  joys  of  youth  and  beauty  pass'd, 
To  find  in  pleasures  I  have  had  my  part, 
Still  warms  me  to  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
This  wicked  world  was  once  my  dear  delight ; 
Now,  all  my  conquests,  all  my  charms,  good  night ! 
The  flour  consumed,  the  best  that  now  I  can, 
Is  e'en  to  make  my  market  of  the  bran. 

My  fourth  dear  spouse  was  not  exceeding  true  ; 
He  kept,  'twas  thought,  a  private  miss  or  two ; 
But  all  that  score  I  paid — as  how  ?  you'll  say, 
Not  with  my  body  in  a  filthy  way  : 
But  I  so  dress'd,  and  danced,  and  drank,  and  dined, 
And  view'd  a  friend  with  eyes  so  very  kind, 
\s  stung  his  heart,  and  made  his  marrow  fry 
With  burning  rage,  and  frantic  jealousy. 
His  soul,  I  hope,  enjoys  eternal  glory, 
For  here  on  earth  I  was  his  purgatory. 
Oft,  when  his  shoe  the  most  severely  wrung, 
He  put  on  careless  airs,  and  sate  and  sung. 


184          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

How  sore  I  gall'd  him,  only  Heaven  could  know 
And  he  that  felt,  and  Miat  caused  the  woe. 
He  died,  when  last  from  pilgrimage  I  came, 
With  other  gossips,  from  Jerusalem ; 
And  now  lies  buried  underneath  a  rood, 
Fair  to  be  seen,  and  rear'd  of  honest  wood : 
A  tomb  indeed,  with  fewer  sculptures  graced 
Than  that  Mausolus'  pious  widow  placed, 
Or  where  inshrined  the  great  Darius  lay ; 
But  cost  on  graves  is  merely  thrown  away. 
The  pit  fill'd  up,  with  turf  we  cover'd  o'er ; 
So  bless  the  good  man's  soul,  I'll  say  no  more. 

Now  for  my  fifth  loved  lord,  the  last  and  best, 
(Kind  Heaven  afford  him  everlasting  rest!) 
Full  hearty  was  his  love,  and  I  can  show 
The  tokens  on  my  ribs  in  black  and  blue ; 
Yet,  with  a  knack,  my  heart  he  could  have  won, 
While  yet  the  smart  was  shooting  in  the  bone. 
How  quaint  an  appetite  in  women  reigns ! 
Free  gifts  we  scorn,  and  love  what  costs  us  paina 
Let  men  avoid  us,  and  on  them  we  leap ; 
A  glutted  market  makes  provision  cheap. 

In  pure  good-will  I  took  this  jovial  spark, 
Of  Oxford  he,  a  most  egregious  clerk. 
He  boarded  with  a  widow  in  the  town, 
A  trusty  gossip,  one  dame  Alison. 
Full  well  the  secrets  of  my  soul  she  knew, 
Better  than  e'er  our  parish  priest  could  do. 
To  her  I  told  whatever  could  befall : 
Had  but  my  husband  piss'd  against  the  wall, 
Or  done  a  thing  that  might  have  cost  hit  life, 
She — and  my  niece — and  one  more  worthy  wife, 
Had  known  it  all :  what  most  he  would  conceal, 
To  these  I  made  no  scruple  to  reveal. 
Oft  has  he  blush'd  from  ear  to  ear  for  shame, 
That  e'er  he  told  a  secret  to  his  dame. 

It  so  befell,  in  holy  time  of  Lent, 
That  oft  a  day  I  to  this  gossip  wen  • 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH.  185 

(My  husband,  thank  my  stars,  was  out  of  town  ;) 

From  house  to  house  we  rambled  up  and  down, 

This  clerk,  myself,  and  my  good  neighbour  Alse, 

To  see,  be  seen,  to  tell  and  gather  tales. 

Visits  to  every  church  we  daily  paid, 

And  march'd  in  every  holy  masquerade, 

The  stations  duly  and  the  vigils  kept ; 

Not  much  we  fasted,  but  scarce  ever  slept. 

At  sermons  too  I  shone  in  scarlet  gay ; 

The  wasting  moth  ne'er  spoil'd  my  best  array; 

The  cause  was  this,  I  wore  it  every  day. 

'Twas  when  fresh  May  her  early  blossoms  yields, 

This  clerk  and  I  were  walking  in  the  fields, 

We  grew  so  intimate,  I  can't  tell  how, 

I  pawn'd  my  honour,  and  engaged  my  vow, 

If  e'er  I  laid  my  husband  in  his  urn, 

That  he,  and  only  he,  should  serve  my  turn. 

We  straight  struck  hands,  the  bargain  was  agreed  ; 

I  still  have  shifts  against  a  time  of  need  : 

The  mouse  that  always  trusts  to  one  poor  hole, 

Can  never  be  a  mouse  of  any  soul. 

I  vow'd  I  scarce  could  sleep  since  first  I  knew  him. 
And  durst  be  sworn  he  had  bewitch'd  me  to  him ; 
If  e'er  I  slept,  I  dream'd  of  him  alone, 
And  dreams  foretell,  as  learned  men  have  shown  ; 
All  this  I  said  ;  but  dreams,  sirs,  I  had  none: 
1  follow'd  but  my  crafty  crony's  lore, 
Who  bid  me  tell  this  lie — and  twenty  more. 

Thus  day  by  day,  and  month  by  month  we  puss'd, 
It  pleased  the  Lord  to  take  my  spouse  at  last. 
I  tore  my  gown,  I  soil'd  my  locks  with  dust, 
And  beat  my  breast  as  wretched  widows — must 
Before  my  face  my  handkerchief  I  spread, 
To  hide  the  flood  of  tears  I  did — not  shed. 
The  good  man's  coffin  to  the  church  was  borne : 
Around,  the  neighbours,  and  my  clerk  too,  mourn. 
But  as  he  march'd,  good  gods  !  he  show'd  a  pair 
Of  legs  and  feet,  so  clean,  so  strong,  so  fair ! 


186          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Of  twenty  winters'  age  he  seera'd  to  be, 
I  (to  say  truth)  was  twenty  more  than  he : 
But  vigorous  still,  a  lively  buxom  dame  ; 
And  had  a  wondrous  gift  to  quench  a  flame. 
A  conjuror  once,  that  deeply  could  divine, 
Assured  me,  Mars  in  Taurus  was  my  sign. 
As  the  stars  order'd,  such  my  life  has  been: 
Alas,  alas,  that  ever  love  was  sin ! 
Fair  Venus  gave  me  fire  and  sprightly  grace, 
And  Mars  assurance  and  a  dauntless  face. 
By  virtue  of  this  powerful  constellation, 
I  follow'd  always  my  own  inclination. 

But  to  my  tale :  A  month  scarce  pass'd  away, 
With  dance  and  song  we  kept  the  nuptial  day  ; 
All  1  possess'd  I  gave  to  his  command, 
My  goods  and  chattels,  money,  house,  and  land  • 
But  oft  repented,  and  repent  it  still : 
He  proved  a  rebel  to  my  sovereign  will : 
Nay  once,  by  Heaven,  he  struck  me  on  the  face  , 
Hear  but  the  fact,  and  judge  yourselves  the  case. 

Stubborn  as  any  lioness  was  I, 
And  knew  full  well  to  raise  my  voice  on  high; 
As  true  a  rambler  as  I  was  before, 
And  would  be  so,  in  spite  of  all  lie  swore. 
He  against  this  right  sagely  would  advise, 
And  old  examples  set  before  my  eyes  ; 
Tell  how  the  Kornan  matrons  led  their  life, 
Of  Gracchus'  mother,  and  Duilius'  wife; 
And  close  the  sermon,  as  beseem' d  his  wit, 
With  some  grave  sentence  out  of  holy  writ. 
Oft  would  he  say,  'Who  builds  his  house  on  sandgj 
Pricks  his  blind  horse  across  the  fallow  lands ; 
Or  lets  his  wife  abroad  with  pilgrims  roam, 
Deserves  a  fool's-cap,  and  long  ears  at  home.' 
All  this  avail' d  not;  for  whoe'er  he  be 
That  tells  my  faults,  I  hate  him  mortally  : 
And  so  do  numbers  more,  I  boldly  say, 
Men,  women,  clergy,  regular  and  lay. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH.  187 

My  spouse  (who  was,  you  know,  to  learning  bred) 
A  certain  treatise  oft  at  evening  read, 
Where  divers  authors  (whom  the  devil  confound 
For  all  their  lies!)  were  in  one  volume  bound. 
Valerius,  whole  ;  and  of  St.  Jerome,  part ; 
Chrysippus  and  Tertullian,  Ovid's  Art, 
Solomon's  Proverbs,  EloTsa's  loves ; 
And  many  more  than  sure  the  church  approves. 
More  legions  were  there  here  of  wicked  wives, 
Than  good  in  all  the  Bible  and  yaints'  lives. 
Who  drew  the  lion  vanquish'd  ?  'twas  a  man. 
But  could  we  women  write  as  scholars  can, 
Men  should  stand  mark'd  with  far  more  wickedness 
Than  all  the  sons  of  Adam  could  redress. 
Love  seldom  haunts  the  breast  where  learning  lies, 
And  Venus  sets  ere  Mercury  can  rise. 
Those  play  the  scholars,  who  can't  play  the  men, 
And  use  that  weapon  which  they  have,  their  pen ; 
When  old,  and  past  the  relish  of  delight, 
Then  down  they  sit,  and  in  their  dotage  write, 
That  not  one  woman  keeps  her  marriage  vow. 
(This  by  the  way;  but  to  my  purpose  now.) 

It  chanced  my  husband  on  a  winter's  night, 
Read  in  this  book,  aloud,  with  strange  delight, 
How  the  first  female  (as  the  Scriptures  show) 
Brought  her  own  spouse  and  aJl  his  race  to  woe. 
How  Samson  fell;  and  he  whom  Dejanire 
Wrapp'd  in  the  envenom'd  shift,  and  set  on  fire. 
How  cursed  Eriphyle  her  lord  betray'd, 
And  the  dire  ambush  Clytemnestra  laid. 
But  what  most  pleased  him  was  the  Cretan  Dame, 
And  Husband  bull — oh  monstrous  !  fie,  for  shame  ! 

He  had  by  heart  the  whole  detail  of  woo 
Xantippe  made  her  good  man  undergo  ; 
How  oil  she  scolded  in  a  day  he  knew, 
How  many  piss-pots  on  the  sage  she  threw, 
Who  took  it  patiently  and  wiped  his  head ; 
Rain  follows  thunder,' — that  wis  all  he  said. 


188          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

He  read,  how  Arius  to  his  friend  complain'd, 
A  fatal  tree  was  growing  in  his  land, 
On  which  three  wives  successively  had  twined 
A  sliding  noose,  and  waver'd  in  the  wind. 
'  Where  grows  this  plant,'  replied  the  friend, '  oh  where? 
For  better  fruit  did  never  orchard  bear : 
Give  me  some  slip  of  this  most  blissful  tree, 
And  in  my  garden  planted  shall  it  be.' 

Then  how  two  wives  their  lords'  destruction  prove, 
Through  hatred  one,  and  one  through  too  much  love: 
That  for  her  husband  mix'd  a  poisonous  draught, 
And  this  for  lust  an  amorous  philtre  bought: 
The  nimble  juice  soon  seized  his  giddy  head, 
Frantic  at  night,  and  in  the  morning  dead. 
How  some  with  swords  their  sleeping  lords  have 

slain, 

And  some  have  hemmer'd  nails  into  their  brain, 
And  some  have  drench'd  them  with  a  deadly  potion ; 
All  this  he  read,  and  read  with  great  devotion. 

Long  time  I  heard,  and  swell'd,  and  blush'd,  and 

frown'd  : 

But  when  no  end  to  these  vile  tales  I  found, 
When  still  he  read,  and  laugh'd,  and  read  again, 
And  half  ihe  night  was  thus  consumed  in  vain; 
Provoked  to  vengeance,  three  large  leaves  I  tore, 
And  with  one  buffet  fell'd  him  on  the  floor. 
With  that  my  husband  in  a  fury  rose, 
And  down  he  settled  me  with  hearty  blows. 
I  groan'd,  and  lay  extended  on  my  side  ; 
'  Oh !  thou  hast  slain  me  for  my  wealth,'  I  cried. 
Yet  I  forgive  thee — take  my  last  embrace — ' 
He  wept,  kind  soul !  and  stoop'd  to  kiss  my  face ; 
I  took  him  such  a  box  as  turn'd  him  blue, 
Then  sigh'd,  and  cried, '  Adieu,  my  dear,  adieu  !* 

But  after  many  a  hearty  struggle  pass'd, 
I  condescended  to  be  pleased  at  last. 
Soon  as  he  said, '  My  mistress  and  my  wife, 
Do  what  you  list,  the  term  of  all  your  life; 


THEBAIS  OF  STATIUS.  189 

I  took  to  heart  the  merits  of  the  cause, 
And  stood  content  to  rule  by  wholesome  laws  ; 
Received  the  reins  of  absolute  command, 
With  all  the  government  of  house  and  land, 
And  empire  o'er  his  tongue,  and  o'er  his  hand. 
As  for  the  volume  that  reviled  the  dames, 
'Twas  torn  to  fragments,  and  condemn'd  to  flames. 
Now,  Heaven,  on  all  my  husbands  gone,  bestow 
Pleasures  above  for  tortures  felt  below. 
That  rest  they  wish'd  for,  grant  them  in  the  grave, 
And  bless  those  souls  my  conduct  help'd  to  save !       , 


THE  FIRST  BOOK  OP 

STATIUS  HIS  THEBAIS. 

Translated  in  the  Year  1703. 


ARGUMENT. 

CEdipus,  king  of  Thebes,  having  by  mistake  slain  hiu 
father  Laius,  and  married  his  mother  Jocasta,  put  out 
his  own  eyes,  and  resigned  the  realm  to  his  sons,  Eteo- 
cles  and  Polynices.  Being  neglected  by  them,  he  makes 
his  prayer  to  the  fury  Tisiphone,  to  sow  debate  be 
twixt  the  brothers.  They  agree  at  last  to  reign  singly, 
each  a  year  by  turns,  and  the  first  lot  is  obtained  by 
Eteocles.  Jupiter,  in  a  council  of  the  gods,  declares 
his  resolution  of  punishing  the  Thebans,  and  Argives 
also,  by  means  of  a  marriage  between  Polynices  and 
one  of  the  daughters  of  Adrastus,  king  of  Argos 
Juno  opposes,  but  to  no  effect;  and  Mercury  is  sent  on 
a  message  to  the  Shades,  to  the  ghost  of  Laius,  who 
is  to  appear  to  Eteocles,  and  provoke  him  to  break  the 
agreement.  Polynices  in  the  mean  time  departs  from 
Thebes  by  night,  is  overtaken  by  a  storm,  and  arrives 
at  Argos ;  where  he  meets  with  Tydeus,  who  had  fled 
from  Calydon,  having  killed  his  brother.  Adrastus 
entertains  them,  having  received  an  oracle  from  Apollo 
that  his  daughter  should  be  married  to  a  boar  and  a 


190 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


lion,  which  he  understands  to  be  meant  of  these 
strangers,  by  whom  the  hides  of  those  beasts  were  worn, 
and  who  arrived  at  the  time  when  he  kept  an  annual 
feast  in  honour  of  that  god.  The  rise  of  this  solemnity 
he  relates  to  his  guests,  the  loves  of  Phcetnis  and 
Psamathe,  and  the  story  of  Choroebus.  He  inquires, 
and  is  made  acquainted  with  their  descent  and  quali 
ty.  The  sacrifice  is  renewed,  and  the  book  concludes 
with  a  hymn  to  Apollo. 

The  translator  hopes  he  need  not  apologize  for  his  choice 
of  this  piece,  which  was  made  almost  in  his  childhood: 
but,  finding  the  version  better  than  he  expected,  ha 
gave  it  some  correction  a  few  years  afterwards. 


STAT1US  HIS  THEBAIS. 

FRATERNAL  rage  the  guilty  Thebes  alarms, 

The  alternate  reign  destroy'd  by  impious  arms, 

Demand  our  song ;  a  sacred  fury  fires 

My  ravish'd  breast,  and  all  the  muse  inspires. 

O  goddess !  say,  shall  I  deduce  my  rhymes 

From  the  dire  nation  in  its  earlv  times, 

Europa's  rape,  Agenor's  stern  decree, 

And  Cadmus  searching  round  the  spacious  sea? 

How  with  the  serpent's  teeth  he  sowed  the  soil, 

And  reap'd  an  iron  harvest  of  his  toil? 

Or  how  from  joining  stones  the  city  sprung, 

While  to  his  harp  divine  Amphion  sung? 

Or  shall  I  Juno's  hate  to  Thebes  resound, 

Whose  fatal  rage  the  unhappy  monarch  found? 

The  sire  against  the  son  his  arrows  drew, 

O'er  the  wide  fields  the  furious  mother  flew, 

And  while  her  arms  a  second  hope  contain, 

Sprung  from  the  rocks,  and  plunged  into  the  main 

But  wave  whate'er  to  Cadmus  may  belong, 
And  fix,  O  Muse !  the  barrier  of  thy  song 
At  OZdipus — from  his  disasters  trace 
The  long  confusions  of  his  guilty  race  : 
Nor  yet  attempt  to  stretch  thy  older  wing, 
And  mighty  Caesar's  conquering  eagles  sing : 


THEBAIS  OF  STAT1US.  191 

How  twice  he  tamed  proud  Ister's  rapid  flood, 
While  Dacian  mountains  stream'd  with  barbarous 

blood : 

Twice  taught  the  Rhine  beneath  his  laws  to  roll, 
And  stretch'd  his  empire  to  the  frozen  pole : 
Or  long  before,  with  early  valour,  strove 
In  youthful  arms  to  assert  the  cause  of  Jove. 
And  thou,  great  heir  of  all  thy  father's  fame, 
Increase  of  glory  to  the  Latian  name, 
O  bless  thy  Rome  with  an  eternal  reign, 
Nor  let  desiring  worlds  entreat  in  vain ! 
What  though  the  stars  contract  their  heavenly  space 
And  crowd  their  shining  ranks  to  yield  thee  place; 
Though  all  the  skies,  ambitious  of  thy  sway, 
Conspire  to  court  thee  from  our  world  away ; 
Though  Phoebus  longs  to  mix  his  rays  with  thine, 
And  in  thy  glories  more  serenely  shine ; 
Though  Jove  himself  no  less  content  would  be 
To   part  his    throne,   and  share    his    heaven   with 

thee; 

Yet  stay,  great  Caesar !  and  vouchsafe  to  reign 
O'er  the  wide  earth,  and  o'er  the  watery  main ; 
Resign  to  Jove  his  empire  of  the  skies, 
And  people  heaven  with  Roman  deities. 

The  time  will  come,  when  a  diviner  flame 
Shall  warm  my  breast  to  sing  of  Caesar's  fame: 
Meanwhile  permit,  that  my  preluding  muse 
In  Theban  wars  a  humbler  theme  may  chuse  : 
Of  furious  hate,  surviving  death,  she  sings, 
A  fatal  throne  to  two  contending  kings, 
And  funeral  flames,  that  parting  wide  in  air, 
Express  the  discord  of  the  souls  they  bear : 
Of  towns  dispeopled,  and  the  wandering  ghosts 
Of  kings  unburied  in  the  wasted  coasts  ; 
When  Dirce's  fountain  blush'd  with  Grecian  blood, 
And  Thetis,  near  Ismenos'  swelling  flood, 
With  dread  beheld  the  rolling  surges  sweep, 
In  heaps,  her  slaughter'd  sons  into  the  deep. 


192         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

What  hero,  Clio !  wilt  thou  first  relate  ? 
The  rage  of  Tydeus,  or  the  prophet's  fate  7 
Or  how,  with  hills  of  slain  on  every  side, 
Hippomedon  repell'd  the  hostile  tide  ? 
Or  ho'w  the  youth,  with  every  grace  adorn'd, 
Untimely  fell,  to  be  for  ever  mourn'd  ? 
Then  to  fierce  Capaneus  thy  verse  extend, 
And  sing  with  horror  his  prodigious  end. 

Now  wretched  OZdipus,  deprived  of  sight, 
Led  a  long  death  in  everlasting  night ; 
But  while  he  dwells  where  not  a  cheerful  ray 
Can  pierce  the  darkness,  and  abhors  the  day ; 
The  clear  reflecting  mind  presents  his  sin 
In  frightful  views,  and  makes  it  day  within ; 
Returning  thoughts  in  endless  circles  roll, 
And  thousand  furies  haunt  his  guilty  soul ; 
The  wretch  then  lifted  to  the  unpitying  skies, 
.  Those  empty  orbs  from  whence  he  tore  his  eyes, 
Whose  wounds,  yet  fresh,  with  bloody  hand  he  strook 
While  from  his  breast  these  dreadful  accents  broke  : 
Ye  gods  !  that  o'er  the  gloomy  regions  reign, 
Where  guilty  spirits  feel  eternal  pain  ; 
Thou,  sable  Styx !  whose  livid  streams  are  roll'd 
Through  dreary  coasts,  which  I,  though  blind,  behold 
Tisiphone,  that  oft  hast  heard  my  prayer, 
Assi-st,  if  OEdipus  deserve  thy  care  ! 
If  you  received  me  from  Jocasta's  womb, 
And  nursed  the  hope  of  mischiefs  yet  to  come  : 
If,  leaving  Polybus,  I  took  my  way 
To  Cyrrha's  temple,  on  that  fatal  day, 
When  by  the  son  the  trembling  father  died, 
Where  the  three  roads  the  Phocian  fields  divide  : 
If  I  the  Sphinx's  riddles  durst  explain, 
Taught  by  thyself  to  win  the  promised  reign  ; 
If  wretched  I,  by  baleful  Furies  led,'- 
With  monstrous  mixture  stain'd  my  mother's  bed, 
For  hell  and  thee  begot  an  impioua  brood, 
And  with  full  lust  those  horrid  joys  renew'd; 


THKBAIS  OF  STATIUS.  103 

Then  self-condemn'd  to  shades  of  endless  night 
forced  from  these  orbs  the  bleeding  balls  of  sight; 
O  hear,  and  aid  the  vengeance  I  require, 
If  worthy  thee,  and  what  thou  might'st  inspire; 
My  sons  their  old  unhappy  sire  despise, 
Spoil'd  of  his  kingdom,  and  deprived  of  eyes; 
Guidelcss  I  wander,  unregarded  mourn, 
While  these  exalt  their  sceptres  o'er  my  urn  ; 
These  sons,  ye  gods !  who,  with  flagitious  pride, 
Insult  my  darkness,  and  my  groans  deride. 
Art  thou  a  father,  unregarding  Jove  ! 
And  sleeps  thy  thunder  in  the  realms  above  1 
Thou  Fury,  then,  some  lasting  curse  entail, 
Which  o'er  their  children's  children  shall  prevail : 
Place  on  their  heads  that  crown  distain'd  with  gore, 
Which  these  dire  "hands  from  my  slain  father  tore ; 
Go,  and  a  parent's  heavy  curses  bear ; 
Break  all  the  bonds  of  nature,  and  prepare 
Their  kindred  souls  to  mutual  hate  and  war. 
Give  them  to  dare,  what  I  might  wish  to  see, 
Blind  as  I  am,  some  glorious  villany  ! 
Soon  shall  thou  find,  if  thou  but  arm  their  hands, 
Their  ready  guilt  preventing  thy  commands  : 
Couldst   thou    some  great,   proportion'd   mischief 

frame, 
They'd  prove  the  father  from  whose  loins  they  came." 

The  Fury  heard,  while  on  Cocytus'  brink 
Her  snakes,  untied,  sulphureous  waters  drink ; 
But  at  the  summons  roll'd  her  eyes  around, 
And  snatch'd  the  starting  serpents  from  the  ground. 
Not  half  so  swiftly  shoots  along  the  air, 
The  gliding  lightning,  or  descending  star, 
Through  crowds  of  airy  shades  she  wing'd  her  flight, 
And  dark  dominions  of  the  silent  night ; 
Swift  as  she  pass'd  the  flitting  ghosts  withdrew 
And  the  pale  spectres  trembled  at  her  view  : 
To  the  iron  gates  of  Trcnarus  she  flies, 
There  spreads  her  dusky  pinions  to  the  skies, 
13 


194  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  day  beheld,  and,  sickening  at  the  sight, 
Veil'd  her  fair  glories  in  the  shades  of  night. 
Affrighted  Atlas,  on  the  distant  shore, 
Trembled,  and   shook    the  heavens   and  gods  ha 

bore. 

Now  from  beneath  Malea's  airy  height 
Aloft  she  sprung,  and  steer'd  to  Thebes  her  flight-? 
With  eager  speed  the  well-known  journey  took, 
Nor  here  regrets  the  hell  she  late  forsook. 
A  hundred  snakes  her  gloomy  visage  shade, 
A  hundred  serpents  guard  her  horrid  head  ; 
In  her  sunk  eye-balls  dreadful  meteors  glow  ; 
Such  rays  from  Phcebe's  bloody  circles  flow, 
When  labouring  with  strong  charms,  she  shoots 

from  high, 

A  fiery  gleam,  and  reddens  all  the  sky. 
Blood  stain'd  her  cheeks,  and  from  her  mouth  there 

came 

Blue  streaming  poisons,  and  a  length  of  flame. 
From  every  blast  of  her  contagious  breath, 
Famine  and  drought  proceed,  and  plagues  and  death 
A  robe  obscene  was  o'er  her  shoulders  thrown, 
A  dress  by  Fates  and  Furies  worn  alone. 
She  toss'd  her  meagre  arms  :  her  better  hand 
In  waving  circles  whirl'd  a  funeral  brand  : 
A  serpent  from  her  left  was  seen  to  rear 
His  flaming  crest,  and  lash  the  yielding  air. 

But  when  the  Fury  took  her  stand  on  high, 
Where  vast  Cithaeron's  top  salutes  the  sky 
A  hiss  from  all  the  snaky  tire  went  round ; 
The  dreadful  signal  all  the  rocks  rebound, 
And  through  the  Achaian  cities  send  the  sound. 
CEte,  with  high  Parnassus,  heard  the  voice  ; 
Eurotus'  banks  remurmur'd  to  the  noise ; 
Again  Leucothoe  shook  at  these  alarms, 
And  press'd  Palsemon  closer  in  her  arms. 
Headlong  from  thence  the  glowing  Fury  springs 
And  o'er  the  Theban  palace  spreads  her  w;ngs, 


THEBAIS  OF  STAT1US.  19* 

Once  more  invades  the  guilty  dome,  and  shrouds 
Its  bright  pavilions  in  a  veil  of  clouds 
Straight  with  the  rage  of  all  their  race  possess'd, 
Stung  to  the  soul,  the  brothers  start  from  rest, 
And  all  their  furies  wake  within  their  breast. 
Their  tortured  minds  repining  envy  tears, 
And  hate  engender'd  by  suspicious  fears  ; 
And  sacred  thirst  of  sway ;  and  all  the  ties 
Of  nature  broke ;  and  royal  perjuries  ; 
And  impotent  desire  to  reign  alone, 
That  scorns  the  dull  reversion  of  a  throne; 
Each  would  the  sweets  of  sovereign  rule  devour, 
While  discord  waits  upon  divided  power. 

As  stubborn  steers  by  brawny  plowmen  broke, 
And  join'd  reluctant  to  the  galling  yoke, 
Alike  disdain  with  servile  necks  to  bear. 
The  unwonted  weight,  or  drag  the  crooked  share, 
But  rend  the  reins,  and  bound  a  different  way, 
And  all  the  furrows  in  confusion  lay; 
Such  was  the  discord  of  the  royal  pair, 
Whom  fury  drove  precipitate  to  war. 
In  vain  the  chiefs  contrived  a  specious  way, 
To  govern  Thebes  by  their  alternate  sway  : 
Unjust  decree  !  while  this  enjoys  the  state, 
That  mourns  in  exile  his  unequal  fate, 
And'the  short  monarch  of  a  hasty  year 
Foresees  with  anguish  his  returning  heir 
Thus  did  the  league  their  impious  arms  restrain, 
But  scarce  subsisted  to  the  second  reign. 

Yet  then  no  proud  aspiring  piles  were  raised, 
No  fretted  roof  with  polish'd  metals  blazed  ; 
No  labour'd  columns  in  long  order  placed, 
No  Grecian  stone  the  pompous  arches  grac'd  ; 
No  nightly  bands  in  glittering  armour  wait 
Before  the  sleepless  tyrant's  guarded  gate ; 
No  chargers  then  were  wrought  in  burnish'd  gold, 
Nor  silver  vases  took  the  forming  mould  ; 
Nor  gems  on  bowls  emboss'd  were  seen  to  shino 
Blaze  on  the  brims,  and  sparkle  in  the  wine. — 


100  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Say,  wretched  rivals!  what  provokes  your  ragel 
Say,  to  what  end  your  impious  arms  engage1? 
Not  all  bright  Phoabus  views  in  early  morn, 
Or  when  his  evening  beams  the  west  adorn, 
When  the  south  glows  with  his  meridian  ray, 
And  the  cold  north  receives  a  fainter  day ; 
For  crimes  like  these,  not  all  those  realms  suffice, 
Were  all  those  realms  the  guilty  victor's  prize  ! 

But  Fortune  now  (the  lots  of  empire  thrown) 
Decrees  to  proud  Eteocles  the  crown  : 
What  joys,  oh  tyrant !  swell'd  thy  soul  that  day, 
When  all  were  slaves  thou  coulclst  around  survey, 
Pleased  to  behold  unbounded  power  thy  own, 
And  singly  fill  a  fear'd  and  envied  throne ! 

But  the  vile  vulgar,  ever  discontent, 
Their  growing  fears  in  secret  murmurs  vent ; 
Still  prone  to  change,  though  still  the  slaves  of  state. 
And  sure  the  monarch  whom  they  have,  to  hate  : 
New  lords  they  madly  make,  then  tamely  bear, 
And  softly  curse  the  tyrants  whom  they  fear. 
And  one  of  those  who  groan  beneath  the  sway 
Of  kings  imposed,  and  grudgingly  obey, 
(Whom  envy  to  the  great,  and  vulgar  spite 
With  scandal  arm'd,  the  ignoble  mind's  delight,) 
Exclaim'd — 'O  Thebes!  for  thee  what  fates  remaml 
What  woes  attend  this  inauspicious  reign ! 
Must  we,  alas !  our  doubtful  necks  prepare, 
Each  haughty  master's  yoke  by  turns  to  bear, 
And  still  to  change  whom  changed  we  still  muti 

fear? 

These  now  control  a  wretched  people's  fate, 
These  can  divide,  and  these  reverse  the  state: 
E'en  fortune  rules  no  more :— O  servile  land, 
Where  exil'd  tyrants  still  by  turns  command. 
Thou  sire  of  gods  and  men,  imperial  Jove ! 
Is  this  the  eternal  doom  decreed  above? 
On  ihy  own  offspring  hast  thou  fix'd  this  fate. 
From  the  first  birth  of  our  unhappy  state; 


THEBAIS  OF  STATIUS,  197 

When  banish'd  Cadmus,  wandering  o'er  the  main, 

For  lost  Europa  search'd  the  world  in  vain, 

And,  fated  in  Boeotian  fields  to  found 

A  rising  empire  on  a  foreign  ground, 

First  raised  our  walls  on  that  ill-omen'd  plain, 

Where  earth-born  brothers  were  by  brothers  slain  1 

What  lofty  looks  the  unrivall'd  monarch  bears ! 

How  all  the  tyrant  in  his  face  appears  ! 

What  sudden  fury  clouds  his  scornful  brow  ! 

Gods  !  how  his  eyes  with  threatening  ardour  glow  1 

Can  this  imperious  lord  forget  to  reign, 

Quit  all  his  state;  descend,  and  serve  again  ? 

Yet  who,  before,  more  popularly  bow'd  1 

Who  more  propitious  to  the  suppliant  crowd  1 

Patient  of  right,  familiar  in  the  throne  ? 

What  wonder  then  ?  he  was  not  then  alone. 

0  wretched  we,  a  wild  submissive  train. 

Fortune's  tame  fools,  and  slaves  in  every  reign  ! 

'  As  when  two  winds  with  rival  force  contend, 
This  way  and  that,  the  wavering  sails  they  bend, 
While  freezing  Boreas  and  black  Eurus  blow, 
Now  here,  now  there,  the  reeling  vessel  throw  : 
Thus  on  each  side,  alas !  our  tottering  state 
Feels  all  the  fury  of  resistless  fate  ; 
And  doubtful  still,  and  still  distracted  stands, 
While  that  prince  threatens,  and  while  this  can- 
mands.' 

And  now  the  almighty  father  of  the  god 
Convenes  a  council  in  the  bless'd  abodes  : 
Far  in  the  bright  recesses  of  the  skies, 
High  o'er  the  rolling  heavens,  a  mansion  lies, 
Whence,  far  below,  the  gods  at  once  survey 
The  realms  of  rising  and  declining  day, 
And  all  the  extended  space  of  earth,  and  air,  and  sea. 
Full  in  the  midst,  and  on  a  starry  throne, 
The  majesty  of  heaven  superior  shone  : 
Serene  he  look'd,  and  gave  an  awful  nod, 
And  all  the  trembling  spheres  confess'd  the  god. 


198  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

At  Jove's  assent,  the  deities  around 
In  solemn  state  the  consistory  crown'd. 
Next  a  long  order  of  inferior  powers 
Ascend  from  hills,  and  plains,  and  shady  bowers; 
Those  from  whose  urns  the  rolling  rivers  flow ; 
And  those  that  give  the  wandering  winds  to  blow ; 
Here  all  their  rage,  and  e'en  their  murmurs  cease, 
And  sacred  silence  reigns,  and  universal  peace. 
A  shining  synod  of  majestic  gods 
Gilds  with  new  lustre  the  divine  abodes  ; 
Heaven  seems  improved  with  a  superior  ray, 
And  the  bright  arch  reflects  a  double  day. 
The  monarch  then  his  solemn  silence  broke, 
The  still  creation  listen'd  while  he  spoke ; 
Each  sacred  accent  bears  eternal  weight, 
And  each  irrevocable  word  is  fate. 

1  How  long  shall  man  the  wrath  of  heaven  defy 
And  force  unwilling  vengeance  from  the  sky ! 
Oh  race  confederate  into  crimes,  that  prove 
Triumphant  o'er  the  eluded  rage  of  Jove  ! 
This  wearied  arm  can  scarce  the  bolt  sustain, 
And  unregarded  thunder  rolls  in  vain  ; 
The  o'erlabour'd  Cyclop  from  his  task  retires; 
The  ^Eolian  forge  exhausted  of  its  fires. 
For  this  I  suffer'd  Phffibus'  steeds  to  stray, 
And  the  mad  ruler  to  misguide  the  day, 
When  the  wide  earth  to  heaps  of  ashes  turn'd 
And  heaven  itself  the  wandering  chariot  burn'd. 
For  this,  my  brother  of  the  watery  reign, 
Released  the  impetuous  sluices  of  the  main  : 
But  flames  consumed,  and  billows  raged  in  vain. 
Two  races  now,  allied  to  Jove,  offend  : 
To  punish  these,  see  Jove  himself  descend. 
The  Theban  kings  their  line  from  Cadmus  trace, 
From  godlike  Perseus  those  of  Argive  race. 
Unhappy  Cadmus'  fate  who  does  not  know, 
And  the  long  series  of  succeeding  wo  ? 
How  oft  the  Furies,  from  the  deeps  of  night, 
Arose  and  mix'd  with  men  in  mortal  fight : 


THEBA1S  O     STATIUS.  199 

The  exulting  mother,  stain'd  with  filial  blood 
The  savage  hunter,  and  the  haunted  wood  1 
The  direful  banquet  why  should  I  proclaim, 
And    crimes    that    gneve    the  trembling  gods  to 

name? 

Ere  I  recount  the  sins  of  these  profane, 
The  sun  would  sink  into  the  western  main, 
And  rising  gild  the  radiant  east  again. 
Have  we  not  seen  (the  blood  of  Laius  shed) 
The  murdering  son  ascend  his  parent's  bed, 
Through  violated  nature  force  his  way, 
And  stain  the  sacred  womb  where  once  he  lay? 
Yet  now  in  darkness  and  despair  he  groans, 
And  for  the  crimes  of  guilty  fate  atones  ; 
His  sons  with  scorn  their  eyeless  father  view, 
Insult  his  wounds,  and  make  them  bleed  anew. 
Thy  curse,  oh  (Edipus,  just  Heaven  alarms, 
And  sets  the  avenging  Thunderer  in  arms 
I  from  the  root  thy  guilty  race  will  tear, 
And  give  the  nations  to  the  waste  of  war. 
Adrastus  soon,  with  gods  averse,  shall  join 
In  dire  alliance  with  the  Theban  line  : 
Hence  strife  shall  rise,  and  mortal  war  succeed ; 
The  guilty  realms  of  Tantalus  shall  bleed  : 
Pix'd  is  their  doom  ;  this  all-remembering  breast 
Yet  harbours  vengeance  for  the  tyrant's  feast.' 

He  said  :  and  thus  the  queen  of  heaven  return" d, 
(With  sudden  grief  her  labouring  bosom  burn'd  ;) 
'  Must  I,  whose  cares  Phoroneus'  towers  defend, 
Must  I,  oh  Jove,  in  bloody  wars  contend  1 
Thou  know'st  those  regions  my  protection  claim, 
Glorious  in  arms,  in  riches,  and  in  fame  : 
Though  there  the  fair  Egyptian  heifer  fed, 
And  there  deluded  Argus  slept,  and  bled  ; 
Though  there  the  brazen  tower  was  storm'd  of  old, 
When  Jove  descended  in  almighty  gold, 
Yet  I  can  pardon  those  obscurer  rapes, 
Those  bashful  crimes  disguised  in  borrow'  1  shapes; 


200          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

But  Thebes, whose,  shining  in  celestial  charms, 

Thou  earnest  triumphant  to  a  mortal's  arms, 

When  all  my  glories  o'er  her  limbs  were  spread, 

And  blazing  lightnings  danced  around  her  bed  ; 

Cursed  Thebes  the  vengeance  it  deserves  may  prove 

Ah,  why  should  Argos  feel  the  rage  of  Jove  ? 

Yet,  since  thou  wilt  thy  sister  queen  control, 

Since  still  the  lust  of  discord  fires  thy  soul, 

Go,  raze  my  Samos,  let  Mycene  fall, 

And  level  with  the  dust  the  Spartan  wall; 

No  more  let  mortals  Juno's  power  invoke, 

Her  fanes  no  more  with  eastern  incense  smoke, 

Nor  victims  sink  beneath  the  sacred  stroke  : 

But  to  your  Isis  all  my  rights  transfer, 

Let  altars  blaze,  and  temples  smoke  for  her ; 

For  her,  through  Egypt's  fruitful  clime  renown'd. 

Let  weeping  Nilus  hear  the  timbrel  sound. 

But  if  thou  must  reform  the  stubborn  times, 

Avenging  on  the  sons  the  father's  crimes, 

And  from  the  long  records  of  distant  age, 

Derive  incitements  to  renew  thy  rage ; 

Say,  from  what  period  then  has  Jove  design'd 

To  date  his  vengeance  ;  to  what  bounds  confined  ? 

Begin  from  thence,  where  first  Alpheus  hides 

His  wandering  stream,  and  through  the  briny  tides 

Unmix'd  to  his  Sicilian  river  glides. 

Thy  own  Arcadians  there  the  thunder  claim, 

Whose  impious  rites  disgrace  thy  mighty  name ; 

Who  raise  thy  temples  where  the  chariot  stood 

Of  fierce  CEiiomaus  defil'd  with  blood  ; 

Where  once  his  steeds  their  savage  banquet  found, 

And  human  bones  yet  whiten  all  the  ground. 

Say,  can  those  honours  please  ?  and  canst  thou  lov« 

Presumptuous  Crete,  that  boasts  the  tomb  of  Jove ' 

And  shall  not  Tantalus's  kingdom  share 

Thy  wife  and  sister's  tutelary  care  ? 

Reverse,  O  Jove,  thy  too  severe  decree, 

Nor  doom  to  war  a  race  derived  from  thee  • 


THEBAIS  OF  STATJUS. 


201 


On  impious  realms  and  barbarous  kings  impose 
Thy  plagues,  and  curse  them  with  such  sons  as  those. 

Thus,  in  reproach  and  prayer,  the  queen  express'd 
The  rage  and  grief  contending  in  her  breast ; 
Unmoved  remain'd  the  ruler  of  the  sky, 
And  from  his  throne  return'd  this  stern  reply  : 

"Twas  thus  I  deem'd  thy  haughty  soul  would 

bear 

The  dire,  though  just,  revenge  which  I  prepare 
Against  a  nation  thy  peculiar  care. 
No  less  Dione  might  for  Thebes  contend, 
Nor  Bacchus  less  his  native  town  defend ; 
Yet  these  in  silence  see  the  fates  fulfil 
Their  work,  and  reverence  our  superior  will. 
For,  by  the  black  infernal  Styx  I  swear, 
(That  dreadful  oath  which  binds  the  Thunderer,) 
'Tis  fix'd;  the  irrevocable  doom  of  Jove; 
No  force  can  bend  me,  no  persuasion  move. 
Haste  then,  Cyllenius,  through  the  liquid  air ; 
Go  mount  the  winds,  and  to  the  shades  repair  ; 
Bid  hell's  black  monarch  my  commands  obey, 
And  give  up  Laius  to  the  realms  of  day: 
Whose  ghost  yet  shivering  on  Cocytus'  sand, 
Expects  its  passage  to  the  farther  strand  ; 
Let  the  pale  sire  revisit  Thebes,  and  bear 
These  pleasing  orders  to  the  tyrant's  ear; 
That,  from  his  exil'd  brother,  swell'd  with  pride 
Of  foreign  forces,  and  his  Argive  bride, 
Almighty  Jove  commands  him  to  detain 
The  promised  empire,  and  alternate  reign  ; 
Be  this  the  cause  of  more  than  mortal  hate: 
The  rest  succeeding  times  shall  ripen  into  fate." 

The  god  obeys,  and  to  his  feet  applies 
Those  golden  wings  that  cut  the  yielding  skies  • 
His  ample  hat  his  beamy  locks  o'erspread, 
And  veil'd  the  starry  glories  of  his  head. 
He  seized  the  wand  that  causes  sleep  to  fly, 
Or  in  soft  slumbers  seals  the  wakeful  eye ; 


202  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

That  drives  the  dead  to  dark  Tartarian  coasts, 
Or  oack  to  life  compels  the  wandering  ghosts. 
Thus,  through  the  parting  clouds,  the  son  of  May 
Wings  on  the  whistling  winds  his  rapid  way  ; 
Now  smoothly  steers  through  air  his  equal  flight, 
Now  springs  aloft,  and  towers  the  ethereal  height 
Then  wheeling,  down  the  steep  of  heaven  he  flies, 
And  draws  a  radiant  circle  o'er  the  skies. 

Meantime  the  banish'd  Polynices  roves 
(His  Thebes  abandon'd)  through  the  Aoman  groves, 
While  future  realms   his  wandering  thoughts  de 
light, 

His  daily  vision,  and  his  dream  by  night ; 
Forbidden  Thebes  appears  before  his  eye, 
From  whence  he  sees  his  absent  brother  fly 
With  transport  views  the  airy  rule  his  own, 
And  swells  on  an  imaginary  throne. 
Fain  would  he  cast  a  tedious  age  away, 
And  live  out  all  in  one  triumphant  day  : 
He  chides  the  lazy  progress  of  the  sun, 
And  bids  the  year  with  swifter  motion  run. 
With  anxious  hopes  his  craving  mind  is  toss'd, 
And  all  his  joys  in  length  of  wishes  lost. 

The  hero  then  resolves  his  course  to  bend 
Where  ancient  Danaus'  fruitful  fields  extend, 
And  famed  Mycene's  lofty  towers  ascend, 
(Where  late  the  sun  dm  Atreus  crimes  detest, 
And  disappear'd  in  horror  of  the  feast.) 
And  now,  by  chance,  by  fate,  or  furies  led, 
From  Bacchus'  consecrated  caves  he  fled, 
Where  the  shrill  cries  of  frantic  matrons  sound, 
And  Pentheus'  blood  enrich'd  the  rising  ground. 
Then  sees  Cithoeron  towering  o'er  the  plain, 
And  thence  declining  gently  to  the  main. 
Next  to  the  bounds  of  Nisus'  realm  repairs, 
Where  treacherous  Scylla  cut  the  purple  hairs: 
The  hanging  cliffs  of  Scyron's  rock  explores, 
And  hears  the  murmurs  of  the  different  shores. 


THEBAIS  OF  ST.ATIUS.  203 

Passes  the  strait  that  parts  the  foaming  seas, 
And  stately  Corinth's  pleasing  site  surveys. 

'Twas  now  the  time  when  Phoebus  yields  to  night, 
And  rising  Cynthia  sheds  her  silver  light : 
Wide  o'er  the  world  in  solemn  pomp  she  drew 
Her  airy  chariot,  hung  with  pearly  dew; 
All  birds  and  beasts  lie  hush'd  :  Sleep  steals  away 
The  wild  desires  of  men,  and  toils  of  day, 
And  brings,  descending  through  the  silent  air 
A  sweet  forgetfulness  of  human  care. 
Yet  no  red  clouds,  with  golden  borders  gay, 
Promise  the  skies  the  bright  return  of  day  ; 
No  faitit  reflections  of  the  distant  light          [night ; 
Streak  with  long  gleams  the  scattering  shades  of 
From  the  damp  earth  impervious  vapours  rise, 
Increase  the  darkness,  and  involve  the  skies. 
At  once  the  rushing  winds  with  roaring  sound 
Hurst  from  the  Julian  caves,  and'rend  the  ground, 
With  equal  rage  their  airy  quarrel  try, 
And  win  by  turns  the  kingdom  of  the  sky : 
I'm  with  a  thicker  night  black  Auster  shrouds 
The  heavens,  and  drives  on  heaps  the  rolling  clouds, 
From  whose  dark  womb  a  rattling  tempest  pours, 
Which  the  cold  North  congeals  to  haily  showers. 
From  pole  to  pole  the  thunder  roars  aloud, 
And  broken  lightnings  flash  from  every  cloud. 
Now  smokes  with  showers  the  misty  mountain- 
ground, 

And  floated  fields  lie  undistinguished  round, 
The  Inachian  streams  with  headlong  fury  run, 
And  Erasinus  rolls  a  deluge  on  : 
The  foaming  Lerna  swells  above  its  bounds 
And  spreads  its  ancient  poisons  o'er  the  grounds  : 
Where  late  was  dust,  now  rapid  torrents  play, 
Rush  through  the  mounds,  and  bear  the  dams  away; 
Old  limbs  of  trees  from  crackling  forests  torn, 
Are  whirl' d  in  air,  and'on  the  winds  are  borne . 
The  storm  the  dark  Lycaean  groves  display'd. 
And  first  to  light  exposed  the  sacred  shade. 


201          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  intrepid  Theban  hears  the  bursting  sky, 
Sees  yawning  rooks  in  rnassy  fragments  fly, 
And  views  astonish'd  from  the  hills  afar, 
The  floods  descending,  and  the  watery  war, 
That,  driven  by  storms,  and  pouring  o'er  the  plain, 
Swept  herds,  and  hinds,  and  houses  to  the  main. 
Through  the  brown  horrors  of  the  night  he  fled, 
Nor  knows,  amazed,  what  doubtful  path  to  tread  ; 
His  brother  s  image  to  his  mind  appears, 
Inflames  his  heart  with  rage,  and  wings  his  feet  will 
fears. 

So  fares  a  sailor  on  the  stormy  main, 
When  clouds  conceal  Bootes'  golden  wain  ; 
When  not  a  star  its  friendly  lustre  keeps, 
Nor  trembling  Cynthia  glimmers  on  the  deeps ; 
He  dreads  the  rocks,  and  shoals,  and  seas,  and  skies. 
While  thunder  roars,  and  lightning  round  him  flies. 

Thus  strove  the  chief,  on  every  side  distress'd, 
Thus  still  his  courage  with  his  toils  increased; 
With  his  broad  shield  opposed,  he  forced  his  way 
Through  thickest  woods,  and  roused  the  beasts  of  prey 
Till  he  beheld,  where  from  Larissa's  height 
The  shelving  walls  reflect  a  glancing  light: 
Thither  with  haste  the  Theban  hero  flies  ; 
On  this  side  Lerna's  poisonous  water  lies, 
On  that  Prosymna's  grove  and  temple  rise : 
He  pass'd  the  gates,  which  then  unguarded  lay, 
And  to  the  regal  palace  bent  his  way ; 
On  the  cold  marble,  spent  with  toil,  he  lies, 
And  waits  till  pleasing  slumbers  seal  his  eyes. 

Adrastus  here  his  happy  people  sways, 
I'less'd  with  calm  peace  in  his  declining  days. 
By  both  his  parents  of  descent  divine, 
Great  Jove  and  Phcebus  graced  his  noble  line  : 
Heaven  had  not  crown'd  his  wishes  with  a  son, 
But  two  fair  daughters  heir  d-his  state  and  throne 
To  him  Apollo  (wondrous  to  relate! 
But  who  can  pierce  into  the  depths  of  Fate  T) 


THEBAIS  OF  STATIUS. 


205 


Had  sung — '  Expect  thy  sons  on  Argos  shore, 
A  yellow  lion,  and  a  bristly  boar.' 
This,  long  revolved  in  his  paternal  breast, 
Sate  heavy  on  his  heart,  and  broke  his  rest ; 
This,  great  Amphiarus,  lay  hid  from  thee, 
Though  skill'd  in  fate,  and  dark  futurity. 
The  father's  care  and  prophet's  art  were  vain : 
For  thus  did  the  predicting  god  ordain. 

Lo,  hapless  Tydeus,  whose  ill-fated  hand 
Had  slain  his  brother,  leaves  his  native  land, 
And,  seized  with  horror,  in  the  shades  of  night, 
Through  the  thick  deserts  headlong  urged  his  flight, 
Now  by  the  fury  of  the  tempest  driven, 
He  seeks  a  shelter  from  the  inclement  heaven, 
Till,  led  by  fate,  the  Theban's  steps  he  treads, 
And  to  fair  Argos'  open  court  succeeds. 

When  thus  the  chiefs  from  different  lands  reson, 
To  Adrastus'  realms,  and  hospitable  court ; 
The  king  surveys  his  guests  with  curious  eyes, 
And  views  their  arms  and  habit  with  surprise. 
A  lion's  yellow  skin  the  Theban  wears, 
Horrid  his  mane,  and  rough  with  i.urling  hairs; 
Such  once  employ'd  Alcides'  youthful  toils, 
Ere  yet  adorn'd  with  Nemea's  dreadful  spoils. 
A  boar's  stiff  hide,  of  Calydonian  breed, 
tEnides'  manly  shoulders  overspread  : 
Oblique  his  tusks,  erect  his  bristles  stood  : 
Alive,  the  pride  and  terror  of  the  wood. 

Struck  with  the  sight,  and  fix'd  in  deep  amaze 
The  king  the  accomplished  oracle  surveys  ; 
Reveres  Apollo's  vocal  caves,  and  owns 
The  guiding  godhead,  and  his  future  sons. 
O'er  all  his  bosom  secret  transports  reign, 
And  a  glad  horror  shoots  through  every  vein. 
To  heaven  he  lifts  his  hands,  erect  his  sight, 
And  thus  invokes  the  silent  queen  of  night : 

Goddess  of  shades,  beneath  whose  gloomy  reign 
Von  spang  ed  arch  glows  with  the  starry  train ; 


206  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

You,  who  the  cares  of  heaven  and  earth  allay, 
Till  nature,  quicken'd  by  the  inspiring  ray. 
Wakes  to  new  vigour  with  the  rising  day  : 
O  thou,  who  freest  me  from  my  doubtful  state, 
Long  lost  and  wilder'd  in  the  maze  of  fate ! 
Be  present  still :  oh  goddess  !  in  our  aid 
Proceed,  and  'firm  those  omens  thou  hast  made. 
We  to  thy  name  our  annual  rites  will  pay, 
And  on  thy  altars  sacrifices  lay; 
The  sable  flock  shall  fall  beneath  the  stroke, 
And  fill  thy  temples  with  a  graceful  smoke 
Hail,  faithful  Tripos  !  hail,  ye  dark  abodes 
Of  awful  Phoebus  :  I  confess  the  gods  !' 

Thus,  seized  with  sacred  fear,  the  monarch  pray'd 
Then  to  his  inner  court  the  guests  convey'd  : 
Where  yet  thin  fumes  from  dying  sparks  arise 
And  dust  yet  white  upon  each  altar  lies, 
The  relics  of  a  former  sacrifice. 
The  king  once  more  the  solemn  rites  requires, 
And  bids  renew  the  feasts,  and  wake  the  fires. 
His  train  obey,  while  all  the  courts  around 
With  noisy  care  and  various  tumult  sound. 
Embroider'd  purple  clothes  the  golden  beds; 
This  slave  the  floor,  and  that  the  table  spreads: 
A  third  dispels  the  darkness  of  the  night ; 
And  fills  depending  lamps  with  beams  of  light; 
Here  loaves  in  canisters  are  piled  on  high, 
And  there  in  flames  the  slaughter' d  victims  fry. 
Sublime  in  regal  state  Adrastus  shone, 
Stretch'd  on  rich  carpets  on  his  ivory  throne; 
A  lofty  couch  receives  each  princely  guest ; 
Around,  at  awful  distance,  wait  the  rest. 

And  now  the  king,  his  royal  feast  to  grace, 
Acestis  calls,  the  guardian  of  his  race, 
Who  first  their  youth  in  arts  of  virtue  train'' d, 
And  their  ripe  years  in  modest  grace  maintain'*!  i 
Then  softly  whisper'd  in  her  faithful  ear, 
And  bade  his  daughters  at  the  rites  appear. 


THEBA1S  OF  STATIUS.  207 

When  from  the  close  apartments  of  the  night, 
The  royal  nymphs  approach  divinely  bright ; 
Such  was  Diana's,  such  Minerva's  face  ; 
Nor  shine  their  beauties  with  superior  grace, 
But  that  in  these  a  milder  charm  endears, 
And  less  of  terror  in  their  looks  appears. 
As  on  the  heroes  first  they  cast  their  eyes, 
O'er  their  fair  cheeks  the  glowing  blushes  rise, 
Their  downcast  looks  a  decent  shame  confess'd, 
Then  on  their  father's  reverend  features  rest. 

The  banquet  done,  the  monarch  gives  the  sign 
To  fill  the  goblet  high  with  sparkling  wine, 
Which  Danaus  used  in  sacred  rites  of  old, 
With  sculpture  graced,  and  rough  with  rising  go.   , 
Here  to  the  clouds  victorious  Perseus  flies, 
Medusa  seems  to  move  her  languid  eyes, 
And  e'en  in  gold,  turns  paler  as  she  dies. 
There  from  the  chase  Jove's  towering  eagl    bears, 
On  golden  wings,  the  Phrygian  to  the  stars ; 
Still  as  he  rises  in  the  ethereal  height, 
His  native  mountains  lessen  to  his  sight ; 
While  all  his  sad  companions  upward  gaze, 
Fix'd  on  the  glorious  scene  in  wild  amaze , 
And  the  swift  hounds,  affrighted  as  he  flies, 
Run  to  the  shade,  and  bark  against  the  skies 

This  golden  bowl  with  generous  juice  was  crowii'd 
The  first  libation  sprinkled  on  the  ground : 
By  turns  on  each  celestial  power  they  call, 
With  Phoebus'  name  resounds  the  vaulted  hall. 
The  courtly  train,  the  strangers,  and  the  rest, 
Crown'd  with    chaste  laurel,  and    with    garlands 

dress'd, 

While  with  rich  gums  the  fuming  altars  blaze, 
Salute  the  god  in  numerous  hymns  of  praise. 

Then  thus  the  king :  '  Perhaps,  my  noble  guests, 
These  honour'd  altars,  and  these  annual  feasts 
To  bright  Apollo's  awful  name  design'd, 
Unkno\v  n,  with  wonder  may  perplex  your  mind, 


208         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Great  was  the  cause  ;  oil*-  old  solemnities 
From  no  blind  zeal  or  fond  tradition  rise  ; 
But,  saved  from  death,  our  Argives  yea-rly  pay 
These  grateful  honours  to  the  god  of  day. 

'  When  by  a  thousand  darts  the  Python  slain 
With  orbs  unroll'd,  lay  covering  all  the  plain , 
(Transfix'd  as  o'er  Castalia's  streams  he  hung, 
And  suck'd  new  poison  with  his  triple  tongue,) 
To  Argo's  realms  the  victor  god  resorts, 
And  enters  old  Crotopus'  humble  courts. 
This  rural  prince  one  only  daughter  bless'd, 
That  all  the  charms  of  blooming  youth  possess'd-. 
Fair  was  her  face,  and  spotless  was  her  mind, 
Where  filial  love  with  virgin  sweetness  join'd. 
Happy  !  and  happy  still  she  might  have  proved, 
Were  she  less  beautiful,  or  less  beloved  ! 
But  Phoebus  loved,  and  on  the  flowery  side 
Of  Nemea's  stream  the  yielding  fair  enjoy'd  : 
Now,  ere  ten  moons  their  orb  with  light  adorn, 
The  illustrious  offspring  of  the  god  was  born  ; 
The  nymph,  her  father's  anger  to  evade, 
Retires  from  Argos  to  the  sylvan  shade  ; 
To  woods  and  wilds  the  pleasing  burthen  bears. 
And  trusts  her  infant  to  a  shepherd's  cares. 

'  How  mean  a  fate,  unhappy  child  is  >.hine  ! 
Ah,  how  unworthy  those  of  race  divine  ! 
On  flowery  herbs  in  some  green  covert  laid, 
His  bed  the  ground,  his  canopy  the  shade, 
He  mixes  with  the  bleating  lambs  his  cries, 
While  the  rude  swain  his  rural  music  tries, 
To  call  soft  slumbers  on  his  infant  eyes. 
Vet  e'en  in  those  obscure  abodes  to  live, 
Was  more,  alab  !  than  cruel  fote  would  give  ; 
For  on  the  grassy  verdure  as  he  lay, 
And  breathed  the  freshness  of  the  early  day, 
Devouring  dogs  the  helpless  infant  tore, 
Fed  on  his  trembling  limbs,  and  lapp'd  the  gore 
The  astonish'd  mother,  when  the  rumour  came, 
Forgets  lii'.r  father,  and  neglects  her  fame. 


THEBAIS  OF  STATIUS. 


2(19 


Witli  loud  complaints  she  fills  the  yielding  air, 
And  beats  her  breast,  and  rends  her  flowing  hair; 
Then  wild  with  anguish  to  her  sire  she  flies, 
Demands  the  sentence,  and  contented  dies. 

1  But,  touch'd  with  sorrow  for  the  dead  too  late, 
The  raging  god  prepares  to  avenge  her  fate. 
He  sends  a  monster,  horrible  and  fell, 
Begot  by  furies  in  the  depths  of  hell. 
Thg  pest  a  virgin's  face  and  bosom  bears  ; 
High  on  a  crown  a  rising  snake  appears, 
Guards  her  black  front,  and  hisses  in  her  hairs ; 
About  the  realm  she  walks  her  dreadful  round, 
When  night  with  sable  wings  o'erspreads  the  ground 
Devours  young  babes  before  their  parents'  eyes, 
And  feeds  and  thrives  on  public  miseries. 

'  But  generous  rage  the  bold  Chormbus  warms. 
Chorcebus,  famed  for  virtue,  as  for  arms ; 
Some  few  like  him,  inspired  with  martial  flame, 
Thought  a  short  life  well  lost  for  endless  fame. 
These,  where  two  ways  in  equal  parts  divide, 
The  direful  monster  from  afar  descried, 
Two  bleeding  babes  depending  at  her  side, 
Whose  panting  vitals,  warm  with  life,  she  draws, 
And  in  their  hearts  imbrues  her  cruel  claws. 
The  youths  surround  her  with  extended  spears  ; 
But  brave  Chorcebus  in  the  front  appears, 
Deep  in  her  breast  he  plunged  his  shining  sword, 
And  hell's  dire  monster  back  to  hell  restored. 
The  Inachians  view  the  slain  with  vast  surprise, 
Her  twisting  volumes,  and  her  rolling  eyes, 
Her  spotted  breast,  and  gaping  womb  imbrued 
With  livid  poison,  and  our  children's  blood. 
The  crowd  in  stupid  wonder  fix'd  appear, 
Pale  e'en  in  joy,  nor  yet  forget  to  fear. 
Some  with  vast  beams  the  squalid  corpse  engage, 
And  weary  all  the  wild  efforts  of  rnge. 
The  birds  obscene,  that  nightly  flock'd  to  taste, 
With  hollow  screeches  fled  the  dire  repast ; 
14 


210 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  ravenous  dogs,  allured  by  scented  blood, 
And  starving  wolves  ran  howling  to  the  wood. 

'  But,  fired  with  rage,  from  cleft  Parnassus'  brovf 
Avenging  Phosbus  bent  his  deadly  bow, 
And  hissing  flew  the  feather'd  fates  below  : 
A  night  of  sultry  clouds  involved  around 
The  towers,  the  fields,  and  the  devoted  ground 
And  now  a  thousand  lives  together  fled, 
Death  with  his  scythe  cut  off  the  fatal  thread, 
And  a  whole  province  in  his  triumph  led. 
But  Phosbus,  ask'd  why  noxious  fires  appear, 
And  raging  Sinus  blasts  the  sickly  year, 
Demands  their  lives  by  whom  his  monster  fell, 
And  dooms  a  dreadful  sacrifice  to  hell. 

'  Bless'd  be  thy  dust,  and  let  eternal  fame 
Attend  thy  manes,  and  preserve  thy  name, 
Undaunted  hero  !  who,  divinely  brave, 
In  such  a  cause  disdain'd  thy  life  to  save ; 
But  view'd  the  shrine  with  a  superior  look. 
And  its  upbraided  godhead  thus  bespoke : 

'  With  piety,  the  soul's  securest  guard, 
And  conscious  virtue,  still  its  own  reward, 
Willing  I  come,  unknowing  how  to  fear ; 
Nor  shall  thou,  Phoebus,  find  a  suppliant  here. 
Thy  monster's  death  to  me  was  owed  alone, 
And  'tis  a  deed  too  glorious  to  disown. 
Behold  him  here,  for  whom,  so  many  days, 
Impervious  clouds  conceal'd  thy  sullen  rays  ; 
For  whom,  as  man  no  longer  claim'd  thy  care, 
Such  numbers  fell  by  pestilential  air ! 
But  if  the  abandon'd  race  of  human  kind 
From  gods  above  no  more  compassion  find ; 
If  such  inclemency  in  heaven  can  dwell, 
Yet  why  must  unoffending  Argos  feel 
The  vengeance  due  to  this  unlucky  steel ! 
On  me,  on  me,  let  all  thy  fury  fall, 
Nor  err  from  me,  since  I  deserve  it  all  : 
Unless  our  desert  cities  please  thy  sight, 
Or  funeral  flames  reflect  a  grateful  light, 


THEBAIS  OF  STATIUS.  21' 

Discharge  thy  shafts,  this  ready  bosom  rend, 
And  to  the  shades  a  ghost  triumphant  send  ; 
But  for  my  country  let  my  fate  atone, 
Be  mine  the  vengeance,  as  the  crime  my  own.' 

1  Merit  distress'd,  impartial  Heaven  relieves  : 
Unwelcome  life  relenting  Phcubus  gives  : 
For  not  the  vengeful  power  that  glow'd  with  rage, 
With  such  amazing  virtue  durst  engage. 
The  clouds  dispersed,  Apollo's  wrath  expired, 
And  from  the  wondering  god  the  unwilling  youth  re- 
Thence  we  these  altars  in  his  temple  raise,      [tired. 
And  offer  annual  honours,  feasts,  and  praise ; 
Those  solemn  feasts  propitious  Phoebus  please ; 
These  honours  still  renew'd,  his  ancient  wrath  ap 
pease. 

'  But  say,  illustrious  guest!'  adjoin' d  the  king, 
'What  name  you  bear  from  what  high  race  you  spring*? 
The  noble  Tydeus  stands  confess'd,  and  known 
Our  neighbour  prince,  and  heir  of  Calydon. 
Relate  your  fortunes,  while  the  friendly  night 
And  silent  hours  to  various  talk  invite.' 

The  Theban  bends  on  earth  his  gloomy  eyes, 
Confused,  and  sadly  thus  at  length  replies ; 
'  Before  these  altars  how  shall  I  proclaim 
(Oh  generous  prince  !)  my  nation  or  my  name, 
Or  through  what  veins  our  ancient  blood  has  roll'd  ? 
Let  the  sad  tale  for  ever  rest  untold! 
Yet  if,  propitious  to  a  wretch  unknown, 
You  seek  to  share  in  sorrows  not  your  own  ; 
Know  then,  from  Cadmus  I  derive  my  race, 
Jocasta's  son,  and  Thebes  my  native  place.' 

To  whom  the  king  (who  felt  his  generous  breast 
Touch'd  with  concern  for  his  unhappy  guest) 
Replies  :— '  Ah,  why  forbears  the  son  to  name 
His  wretched  father,  known  too  well  by  fame? 
Fame,  that  delights  around  the  world  to  stray, 
Scorns  not  to  take  our  Argos  in  her  way. 
E'en  those  who  dwell  where  suns  at  distance  roll, 
Tn  northern  wilds,  and  freeze  beneath  the  pole; 


212 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  those  who  tread  the  burning  Libyan  lands, 
The  faithless  Syrtes,  and  the  moving  sands  ; 
Who  view  the  western  sea's  extremes!  bounds, 
Or  drink  of  Ganges  in  their  eastern  grounds  ; 
All  these  the  woes  of  Oedipus  have  known, 
Your  fates,  your  furies,  and  your  haunted  town. 
If  on  the  sons  the  parents'  crimes  descend, 
What  prince  from  those  his  lineage  can  defend  1 
Be  this  thy  comfort,  that  'tis  thine  to  efface 
With  virtuous  acts  thy  ancestor's  disgrace, 
And  be  thyself  the  honour  of  thy  race. 
But  see !  the  stars  begin  to  steal  away, 
And  shine  more  faintly  at  approaching  day. 
Now  pour  the  wine  ;  and  in  your  tuneful  lays 
Once  more  resound  the  great  Apollo's  praise.' 
Oh,  father  Phoebus  !  whether  Lycia's  coast 
And  snowy  mountains  thy  bright  presence  boast  j 
Whether  to  sweet  Castalia  thou  repair, 
And  bathe  in  silver  dews  thy  yellow  hair ; 
Or,  pleased  to  find  fair  Delos  float  no  more, 
Delight  in  Cynthus,  and  the  shady  shore ; 
Or  choose  thy  seat  in  Ilion's  proud  abodes, 
The  shining  structures  raised  by  labouring  gods  ; 
By  thee  the  bow  and  mortal  shafts  are  borne  ; 
Eternal  charms  thy  blooming  youth  adorn  : 
Skill' d  in  the  laws  of  secret  fate  above, 
And  the  dark  counsels  of  almighty  Jove, 
'Tis  thine  the  seeds  of  future  war  to  know, 
The  change  of  sceptres,  and  impending  woe  ; 
When  direful  meteors  spread  through  glowing  air 
Long  trails  of  light,  and  shake  their  blazing  hair, 
Thy  rage  the  Phrygian  felt,  who  durst  aspire 
To  excel  the  music  of  thy  heavenly  lyre  ; 
Thy  shafts  avenged  lewd  Tityus'  guilty  flame 
The  immortal  victim  of  thy  mother's  fame; 
Thy  hand  slew  Python,  and  the  dame  who  lost 
Her  numerous  offspring  for  a  fatal  boast. 
In  Phlegyas'  doom  thy  just  revenge  appears, 
Condemn'd  to  furies  and  eternal  fears  : 


THE  FABLE  OF  DRYOPE. 


213 


He  views  his  food,  but  dreads,  with  lifted  eye, 
The  mouldering  rock,  that  trembles  from  on  high. 


Propitious  hear  our  prayer,  O  power  divine ! 
And  on  thy  hospitable  Argos  shine, 
Whether  the  style  of  Titan  please  thee  more, 
Whose  purple  rays  the  Achaemenes  adore ; 
Or  great  Osiris,  who  first  taught  the  swain 
In  Pharian  field  to  sow  the  golden  grain ; 
Or  Mithra,  to  whose  beams  the  Persian  bows, 
And  pays,  in  hollow  rocks,  his  awful  vows  ; 
Mithra,  whose  head  the  blaze  of  light  adorns, 
Who  grasps  the  struggling  heifer's  lunar  horns. 


THE  FABLE  OF  DRYOPE. 

FROM 

OVID'S  METAMORPHOSES, 

Book  9. 

SHE  said,  and  for  her  lost  Galanthis  sighs, 

When  the  fair  consort  of  her  son  replies  : 

Since  you  a  servant's  ravish'd  form  bemoan, 

And  kindly  sigh  for  sorrows  not  your  own; 

Let  me  (if  tears  and  grief  permit)  relate 

A  nearer  woe,  a  sister's  stranger  fate. 

No  nymph  of  all  (Echalia  could  compare 

For  beauteous  form  with  Dryope  the  fair, 

Her  tender  mother's  only  hope  and  pride 

(Myself  the  offspring  of  a  second  bride.) 

This  nymph,  compress'd  by  him  who  rules  the  day, 

Whom  Delphi  and  the  Delian  isle  obey, 

Andrsemon  loved;  and,  bless'd  in  all  those  charms 

That  pleased  a  god,  succeeded  to  her  arms. 

A  lake  there  was,  with  shelving  banks  around, 

Whose  verdant  summit  fragrant  myrtles  crown;d 


214  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

These  shades,  unknowing  of  the  fates,  she  sought, 
And  to  the  Naiads  flowery  garlands  brought; 
Her  smiling  babe  (a  pleasing  charge)  she  press'd 
Within  her  arms,  and  nourish'd  at  her  breast. 
Not  distant  far,  a  watery  lotos  grows; 
The  spring  was  new,  and  all  the  verdant  boughs 
Adorn'd  with  blossoms,  promised  fruits  that  vie 
In  glowing  colours  with  the  Tyrian  dye  : 
Of  these  she  cropp'd  to  please  her  infant  son  ; 
And  I  myself  the  same  rash  act  had  done : 
But  lo  !  I  saw  (as  near  her  side  I  stood) 
The  violated  blossoms  drop  with  blood. 
Upon  the  tree  I  cast  a  frightful  look  ; 
The  trembling  tree  with  sudden  horror  shook. 
Lotis  the  nymph  (if  rural  tales  be  true,) 
As  from  Priapus'  lawless  lust  she  flew, 
Forsook  her  form  ;  and,  fixing  here,  became 
A  flowery  plant,  which  still  preserves  her  name. 
This  change  unknown,  astonish'd  at  the  sight, 
My  trembling  sister  strove  to  urge  her  flight : 
And  first  the  pardon  of  the  nymphs  implored, 
And  those  offended  sylvan  powers  adored  : 
But  when  she  backward  would  have  fled,  she  founa 
Her  stiffening  feet  were  rooted  in  the  ground ; 
In  vain  to  free  her  fasten'd  feet  she  strove, 
And,  as  she  struggles,  only  moves  above  ; 
She  feels  the  encroaching  bark  around  her  grow 
By  quick  degrees,  and  cover  all  below  : 
Surprised  at  this,  her  trembling  hand  she  heaves 
To  rend  her  hair  :  her  hand  is  fill'd  with  leaves  : 
Where  late  was  hair,  the  shooting  leaves  are  seen 
To  rise,  and  .shade  her  with  a  sudden  green. 
The  child  Amphissus,  to  her  bosom  press'd, 
Perceived  a  colder  and  a  harder  breast, 
And  found  the  springs,  that  ne'er  lill  then  denied 
Their  milky  moisture,  on  a  sudden  dried. 
I  saw,  unhappy  !  what  I  now  relate, 
And  stood  the  helpless  witness  of  thy  fate, 


THE  FABLE  OF  DRYOPE.  216 

Embraced  thy  boughs,  thy  rising  bark  delay'd, 
There  wish'd  to  grow,  and  mingle  shade  with  shade. 

Behold  Andrsemon  and  the  unhappy  sire 
Appear,  and  for  their  Dryope  inquire ; 
A  springing  tree  for  Dryope  they  find, 
And  print  warm  kisses  on  the  panting  rind ; 
Prostrate,  with  tears  their  kindred  plant  bedew, 
And  close  embrace  as  to  the  roots  they  grew. 
The  face  was  all  that  now  remain'd  of  thee, 
No  more  a  woman,  nor  yet  quite  a  tree  ; 
Thy  branches  hung  with  humid  pearls  appear, 
From  every  leaf  distils  a  trickling  tear, 
And  straight  a  voice,  while  yet  a  voice  remains, 
Thus  through  the  trembling  boughs  in  sighs  com 
plains  : 

'  If  to  the  wretched  any  faith  be  given, 
I  swear  by  all  the  unpitying  powers  of  heaven, 
No  wilful  crime  this  heavy  vengeance  bred  ; 
In  mutual  innocence  our  lives  we  led  : 
If  this  be  false,  let  these  new  greens  decay, 
Let  sounding  axes  lop  my  limbs  away, 
And  crackling  flames  on  all  my  honours  prey ! 
But  from  my  branching  arms  this  infant  bear, 
Let  some  kind  nurse  supply  a  mother's  care : 
And  to  his  mother  let  him  oft  be  led, 
Sport  in  her  shades,  and  in  her  shades  be  fed  ; 
Teach  him,  when  first  his  infant  voice  shall  frame 
Imperfect  words,  and  lisp  his  mother's  name, 
To  hail  this  tree ;  and  say  with  weeping  eyes, 
Within  this  plant  my  hapless  parent  lies : 
And  when  in  youth  he  seeks  the  shady  woods, 
Oh,  let  him  fly  the  crystal  lakes  and  floods, 
Nor  touch  the  fatal  flowers ;  but,  warn'd  by  me, 
Believe  a  goddess  shrined  in  every  tree. 
My  sire,  my  sister,  and  my  spouse,  farewell  I 
If  in  your  breast  or  love  or  pity  dwell, 
Protect  your  plant,  nor  let  my  branches  feel 
The  browsing  cattle,  or  the  piercing  steel. 


216  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

F&rewell !  and  since  I  cannot  bend  to  join 
My  lips  to  yours,  advance  at  least  to  mine. 
My  son,  thy  mother's  parting  kiss  receive 
While  yet  thy  mother  has  a  kiss  to  give. 
I  can  no  more ;  the  creeping  rind  invades 
My  closing  lips,  and  hides  my  head  in  shades 
Remove  your  hands ;  the  bark  shall  soon  suffice 
Without  their  aid  to  seal  these  dying  eyes.' 

She  ceased  at  once  to  speak,  and  ceased  to  be 
And  all  the  nymph  was  lost  within  the  tree  ; 
Yet  latent  life  through  her  new  branches  reign'd, 
And  long  the  plant  a  human  heat  retain'd. 


VERTUMNUS  AND  POMONA. 

FROM 

OVID'S  METAMORPHOSES, 
Book  4. 

THE  fair  Pomona  flourish'd  in  his  reign  : 

Of  all  the  virgins  of  the  sylvan  tram, 

None  taught  the  trees  a  nobler  race  to  bear, 

Or  more  improved  the  vegetable  care. 

To  her  the  shady  grove,  the  flowery  field, 

The  streams  and  fountains,  no  delights  could  yield '. 

'Twas  all  her  joy  the  ripening  fruits  to  tend, 

And  see  the  boughs  with  happy  burthens  bend. 

The  hook  she  bore  instead  of  Cynthia's  spear, 

To  lop  the  growth  of  the  luxuriant  year, 

To  decent  form  the  lawless  shoots  to  bring, 

And  teach  the  obedient  branches  where  to  spring. 

Now  the  cleft  rind  inserted  gran's  receives, 

And  yields  an  offspring  more  than  nature  gives; 

Now  sliding  streams  the  thirsty  plants  renew, 

And  feed  their  fibres  with  reviving  dew. 

j 


VERTUMNUS  AND  POMONA.         217 

These  cares  alone  her  virgin  breast  employ, 
Averse  from  Venus  and  the  nuptial  joy. 
Her  private  orchards,  wall'd  on  every  side, 
To  lawless  sylvans  ^11  access  denied. 
How  oft  the  satyrs  and  the  wanton  fauns, 
Who  haunt  the  forests,  or  frequent  the  lawns, 
The  god  whose  ensigns  scares  the  birds  of  prey 
And  old  Silenus,  youthful  in  decay, 
Employ' d  their  wiles  and  unavailing  care, 
To  pass  the  fences,  and  surprise  the  fair ! 
Like  these,  Vertumnus  own'd  his  faithful  flame. 
Like  these,  rejected  by  the  scornful  dame. 
To  gain  her  sight,  a  thousand  forms  he  wears ; 
And  first  a  reaper  from  the  field  appears, 
Sweating  he  walks,  while  loads  of  golden  grain 
O'ercharge  the  shoulders  of  the  seeming  swain. 
Oft  o'er  his  back  a  crooked  scythe  is  laid, 
And  wreaths  of  hay  his  sun-burnt  temples  shade 
Oft  in  his  harden'd  hand  a  goad  he  bears, 
Like  one  who  late  unyoked  the  sweating  steers 
Sometimes  his  pruning-hook  corrects  the  vines, 
And  the  loose  stragglers  to  their  ranks  confines. 
Now  gathering  what  the  bounteous  year  allows, 
He  pulls  ripe  apples  from  the  bending  boughs. 
A  soldier  now,  he  with  his  sword  appears  ; 
A  fisher  next,  his  trembling  angle  bears. 
Each  shape  he  varies,  and  each  art  he  tries, 
On  her  bright  charms  to  feast  his  longing  eyes. 

A  female  form  at  last  Vertumnus  wears, 
With  all  the  marks  of  reverend  age  appears, 
His  temples  thinly  spread  with  silver  hairs  : 
Propp'd  on  his  staff,  and  stooping  as  he  goes, 
A  painted  mitre  shades  his  furrow'd  brows. 
The  god,  in  this  decrepit  form  array'd, 
The  gardens  entered,  and  the  fruit  survey^ ; 
And  '  Happy  you  !'  he  thus  address'd  the  maid, 
1  Whose  charms  as  far  all  other  nymphs  out-shine, 
As  other  gardens  are  excell'd  by  thine  !' 


218  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Then  kiss'd  the  fair  (his  kisses  warmer  grow 
Than  such  as  women  on  their  sex  bestow ;) 
Then,  placed  beside  her  on  the  flowery  ground, 
Beheld  the  trees  with  autumn's  bounty  crown'd. 
An  elm  was  near,  to  whose  embraces  led, 
The  curling  vine  her  swelling  clusters  spread  : 
He  view'd  her  twining  branches  with  delight, 
And  praised  the  beauty  of  the  pleasing  sight. 

'  Yet  this  tall  elm,  but  for  his  vine,'  he  said, 
1  Had  stood  neglected,  and  a  barren  shade ; 
And  this  fair  vine,  but  that  her  arms  surround 
Her  married  elm,  had  crept  along  the  ground. 
Ah  beauteous  maid  !  let  this  example  move 
Your  mind,  averse  from  all  the  joys  of  love 
Deign  to  be  loved,  and  every  heart  subdue  : 
What  nymph  could  e'er  attract  such  crowds 

you? 

Not  she  whose  beauty  urged  the  Centaur's  arms, 
Ulysses'  queen,  nor  Helen's  fatal  charms. 
E'en  now,  when  silent  scorn  is  all  they  gain, 
A  thousand  court  you,  though  they  court  in  vain. 
A  thousand  sylvans,  demigods,  and  gods, 

nat  haunt  our  mountains,  and  our  Alban  wooda 
But  if  you'll  prosper,  mark  what  I  advise, 
Whom  age  and  long  experience  render  wise. 
And  one  whose  tender  care  is  far  above 
All  that  these  lovers  ever  felt  for  love ; 
(Far  more  than  e'er  can  by  yourself  be  guess'd  •) 
Fix  on  Vertumnus,  and  reject  the  rest. 
For  his  firm  faith  I  dare  engage  my  own  ; 
Scarce  to  himself,  himself  is  better  known. 
To  distant  lands  Vertumnus  never  roves  ; 
Like  you,  contented  with  his  native  groves  ; 
Nor  at  first  sight,  like  most,  admires  the  fair; 
For  you  he  lives :  and  you  alone  shall  share 
His  last  affection,  as  his  early  care. 
Besides,  he's  lovely  far  above  the  rest, 
With  youth  immortal,  and  with  beauty  bless* d. 


VERTUMNUS  AND  POMONA.         219 

Add,  that  he  varies  every  shape  with  ease, 
And  tries  all  forms  that  may  Pomona  please. 
But  what  should  most  excite  a  mutual  flame 
Your  rural  cares  and  pleasures  are  the  same  : 
To  him  your  orchard's  early  fruit  are  due, 
(A  pleasing  offering  when  'tis  made  by  you,) 
He  values  these;  but  yet,  alas  !  complains, 
That  still  the  best  and  dearest  gift  remains. 
Not  the  fair  fruit  that  on  yon  branches  glows 
With  that  ripe  red  the  autumnal  sun  bestows ! 
Nor  tasteful  herbs  that  in  these  gardens  rise, 
Which  the  kind  soil  with  milky  sap  supplies  : 
You,  only  you,  can  move  the  god's  desire  : 
Oh,  crown  so  constant  and  so  pure  a  fire ! 
Let  soft  compassion  touch  your  gentle  mind ; 
Think,  'tis  Yertumnus  begs  you  to  be  kind: 
So  may  no  frost,  when  early  buds  appear. 
Destroy  the  promise  of  the  youthful  year  ; 
Nor  winds,  when  first  your  florid  orchard  blows, 
Shake  the  light  blossoms  from  their  blasted  boughs.1 

This  when  the  various  god  had  urged  in  vain, 
He  straight  assumed  his  native  form  again 
Such,  and  so  bright  an  aspect  now  he  bears 
As  when  through  clouds  the  emerging  sun  appears 
And,  thence  exerting  his  refulgent  ray, 
Dispels  the  darkness,  and  reveals  the  day. 
Force  he  prepared,  but  check' d  the  rash  design  ; 
For  when,  appearing  in  a  form  divine, 
The  nymph  surveys  him,  and  beholds  the  grace 
Of  charming  features,  and  a  youthful  face ; 
In  her  soft  breast  consenting  passions  move, 
And  the  warm  maid  confess'd  a  mutual  love. 


220 

IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Done  by  the  Author  in  his  Youth. 


CHAUCER. 

WOMEN  ben  full  of  ragerie, 

Yet  swinken  riat  sans  secresie. 

Thilka  moral  shall  ye  understand, 

From  schoole-boy's  tale  of  fayre  Irelond  : 

Which  to  the  fennes  hath  him  betake, 

To  filch  the  gray  ducke  fro  the  lake. 

Right  then,  there  passen  by  the  way 

His  aunt,  and  eke  her  daughters  tway, 

Ducke  in  his  trowsers  hath  he  hent, 

Not  to  be  spied  of  ladies  gent. 

'  But  ho  !  our  nephew,'  crieth  one, 

1  Ho  !'  quoth  another,  '  cozen  John  ;' 

And  stoppen,  and  lough,  and  callen  out,— 

This  silly  clerke  full  low  doth  lout : 

They  asken  that,  and  talken  this, 

'  Lo !  here  is  coz,  and  here  is  miss.' 

But  as  he  glozeth  with  speeches  soote, 

The  ducke  sore  tickleth  his  erse  roote ; 

Fore-piece  and  buttons  all  to-brest, 

Forth  thrust  a  white  neck,  and  red  crest. 

'  Te-he,'  cried  ladies ;  clerke  nought  spake ; 

Miss  stared,  and  gray  ducke  cryeth,  '  Quaake.1 

'  O  moder,  moder,1  quoth  the  daughter, 

'  Be  thilke  same  thing  maids  longen  a'ter  ? 

Bette  la  to  pine  on  coals  and  chalke, 

Then  trust  on  mon,  whose  yerde  can  talke.' 


SPENSER. 

THE  ALLEY. 

IN  every  town  where  Thamis  rolls  his  tyde, 
A  narrow  pass  there  is  with  houses  low : 


IMITATIONS.  221 

Wheie,  ever  and  anon,  the  stream  is  eyed, 
And  many  a  boat,  soft  sliding  to  and  fro. 
There  oft  are  heard  the  notes  of  infant  woe, 
The  short  thick  sob,  loud  scream,  and  shriller  squall 
How  can  ye,  mothers,  vex  your  children  so  1 
Some  play,  some  eat,  some  cack  against  the  wall, 
And  as  they  crouchen  low,  for  bread  and  butter  call 
And  on  the  broken  pavement,  here  and  there, 
Doth  many  a  stinking  sprat  and  herring  lie ; 
A  brandy  and  tobacco  shop  is  near, 
And  hens,  and  dogs,  and  hogs  are  feeding  by  5 
And  here  a  sailor's  jacket  hangs  to  dry. 
At  every  door  are  sun-burnt  matrons  seen, 
Mending  old  nets  to  catch  the  scaly  fry, 
Now  singing  shrill,  and  scolding  eft  between; 
Scolds  answer  foul-mouth'd  scolds;  bad  neighbour 
hood  I  ween. 

'lie  snappish  cur  (the  passenger's  annoy) 
Close  at  rny  heel  with  yelping  treble  flies ; 
The  whimpering  girl,  and  hoarser  screaming  boy, 
Join  to  the  yelping  treble,  shrilling  cries; 
The  scolding  quean  to  louder  notes  doth  rise, 
And  her  full  pipes  those  shrilling  cries  confound; 
To  her  full  pipes  the  grunting  hog  replies ; 
The  grunting  hogs  alarm  the  neighbours  round, 
And  curs,  girls,  boys,  and  scolds,  in  the  deep  base  are 

drown'd. 

Hard  by  a  sty,  beneath  a  roof  of  thatch, 
Dwelt  Obloquy,  who  in  her  early  days 
Baskets  of  fish  at  Billingsgate  did  watch, 
Cod,  whiting,  oyster,  mackrel,  sprat,  or  plaice ; 
There  learn'd  she  speech  from  tongues  that  never 

cease. 

Slander  beside  her,  like  a  magpie,  chatters, 
With  Envy  (spitting  cat,)  dread  foe  to  peace; 
Like  a  cursed  cur,  Malice  before  her  clatters, 
And,  vexing  every  wight,  tears  clothes  and  all 
tatters. 


222          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Her  dugs  were  mark'd  by  every  collier's  hand, 
Her  mouth  was  black  as  bull  dog's  at  the  stall ; 
She  scratch'd,  bit,  and  spared  ne  lace  ne  band, 
And  bitch  and  rogue  her  answer  was  to  all ; 
Nay,  e'en  the  parts  of  shame  by  name  would  call } 
Yea,  when  she  passed  by  or  lane  or  nook, 
Would  greet  the  man  who  turn'd  him  to  the  wall, 
And  by  his  hand  obscene  the  porter  took, 
Nor  ever  did  askance  like  modest  virgin  look. 

Such  place  hath  Deptford,  navy-building  town, 
Woolwich  and  Wapping,  smelling  strong  of  pitch  : 
Such  Lambeth,  envy  of  each  band  and  gown; 
And  Twickenham  such,  which  fairer  scenes  enrich 
Grots,  statues,  urns,  and  Jo — n's  dog  and  bitch, 
Ne  village  is  without,  on  either  side, 
All  up  the  silver  Thames,  or  all  adown  : 
Ne  Richmond's  self,  from  whose  tall  front  are  eyed 
Vales,   spires,  meandering  streams,  and  Windsor's 
towery  pride. 


WALLER. 

OF  A  LADY  SINGING  TO  HKR  LUTE. 

PAIR  charmer,  cease,  nor  make  your  voice's  prize, 
A  heart  resign'd,  the  conquest  of  your  eyes  : 
Well  might,  alas  !  that  threaten'd  vessel  fail, 
Which  winds  and  lightning  both  at  once  assail. 
We  were  too  bless'd  with  these  exchanting  lays, 
Which  must  be  heavenly  when  an  angel  plays ; 
But  killing  charms  your  lover's  death  contrive, 
Lest  heavenly  music  should  be  heard  alive. 
Orpheus  could  charm  the  trees :  but  thus  a  tree, 
Taught  by  your  hand,  can  charm  no  less  than  he , 
A  poet  made  the  silent  wood  pursue, 
This  vocal  wood  had  drawn  the  poet  too. 


IMITATIONS. 
ON  A  FAN  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S  DESIGN. 


223 


In  which  icas  painted  the  Story  of  Cephalus  and 

Procris,  icith  the  Motto,  '  Aura  veni.' 
1  COME,  gentle  air !'  the  .iEolian  shepherd  said, 
While  Procris  panted  in  the  secret  shade ; 
'  Come,  gentle  air,'  the  fairer  Delia  cries, 
While  at  her  feet  her  swain  expiring  lies. 
Lo,  the  glad  gales  o'er  all  her  beauties  stray, 
Breathe  on  her  lips,  and  in  her  bosom  play ! 
In  Delia's  hand  this  toy  is  fatal  found, 
Nor  could  that  fatal  dart  more  surely  wound 
Both  gifts  destructive  to  the  givers  prove; 
Alike  both  lovers  fall  by  those  they  love. 
Yet  guiltless  too  the  bright  destroyer  lives, 
At  random  wounds,  nor  knows  the  wound  she  gives 
She  views  the  story  with  attentive  eyes, 
And  pities  Procris,  while  her  lover  dies. 


COWLEY. 

THE  GARDEN. 

FAIN  would  my  muse  the  flowery  treasure  sing 
And  humble  glories  of  the  youthful  spring  : 
Where  opening  roses  breathing  sweets  diffuse, 
And  soft  carnations  shower  their  balmy  dews 
Where  lilies  smile  in  virgin  robes  of  white, 
The  thin  undress  of  superficial  light, 
And  varied  tulips  show  so  dazzling  gay, 
Blushing  in  bright  diversities  of  day. 
Each  painted  floweret  in  the  lake  below 
Surveys  its  beauties,  whence  its  beauties  grow; 
And  pale  Narcissus,  on  the  bank,  in  vain 
Transformed,  gazes  on  himself  again, 
Here  aged  trees  cathedral  walks  compose, 
And  mount  the  hill  in  venerable  rows  ; 
There  the  green  infants  in  their  beds  are  laid. 
The  garden's  hope,  and  its  expected  shade, 


221  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Here  orange  trees  with  blooms  and  pendants  shinq 
And  vernal  honours  to  their  autumn  join  ; 
Exceed  their  promise  in  their  ripen'd  store, 
Yet  in  the  rising  blossom  promise  more. 
There  in  bright  drops  the  crystal  fountains  play, 
By  laurels  shielded  from  the  piercing  day  ; 
Where  Daphne,  now  a  tree,  as  once  a  maid, 
Still  from  Apollo  vindicates  her  shade, 
Still  turns  her  beauties  from  the  invading  beam, 
Nor  seeks  in  vain  for  succour  to  the  stream ; 
The  stream  at  once  preserves  her  virgin  leaves, 
At  once  a  shelter  from  her  boughs  receives, 
Where  summer's  beauty  midst  of  winter  stays, 
And  winter's  coolness  spite  of  summer's  rays. 


WEEPING. ' 

WHILE  Celia's  tears  make  sorrow  bright, 
Proud  grief  sits  swelling  in  her  eyes  : 

The  sun,  next  those  the  fairest  light, 
Thus  from  the  ocean  first  did  rise ; 

And  thus  through  mists  we  see  the  sun, 

Which  else  we  durst  not  gaze  upon. 

i.  r.ese  silver  drops,  like  morning  dew, 
Foretell  the  fervour  of  the  day  : 

So  from  one  cloud  soft  showers  we  view 
And  blasting  lightnings  burst  away. 

The  stars  that  fall  from  Celia's  eye, 

Declare  our  doom  is  drawing  nigh. 

The  baby  in  that  sunny  sphere 

So  like  a  Phaeton  appears, 
That  heaven,  the  threaten'd  world  to  spare, 

Thought  fit  to  drown  him  in  her  tears  : 
Else  might  the  ambitious  nymph  aspire 
To  set,  like  him.  heaven  too  on  fire. 


IMITATIONS.  225 

EARL  OF  ROCHESTER 

ON  SILENCE. 

SILENCE  !  coeval  with  eternity, 
Thou  wert,  ere  nature's  self  began  to  be; 
Twas  onevast  nothing,  all,  and  all  slept  fast  in  thee. 

Thine  was  the  sway,  ere  heav'n  was  formed,  or 

earth : 

Ere  fruitful  thought  conceived  creation's  birth, 
r  midwife  word  gave  aid,  and  spoke  the  infant  forth. 

The  various  elements  against  thee  join'd 
In  one  more  various  animal  combined, 

And  framed  the  clamorous  race  of  busy  human-kind. 
The  tongue  moved  gently  first  and  speech  was  low, 
Till  wrangling  science  taught  it  noise  and  show, 

And  wicked  wit  arose,  thy  most  abusive  foe. 

But  rebel  wit  deserts  thee  oft  in  vain  ; 
Lost  in  the  maze  of  words  he  turns  again, 
And  seeks  a  surer  state,  and  courts  thy  gentle  reign. 

Afflicted  sense  thou  kindly  dost  set  free, 

Oppress' d  with  argumental  tyranny, 
And  routed  reason  finds  a  safe  retreat  in  thee. 

With  thee  in  private  modest  dulness  lies, 

And  in  thy  bosom  lurks  in  thought's  disguise  ; 
Thou  varnisher  of  fools,  and  cheat  of  all  the  wise ! 

Yet  thy  indulgence  is  by  both  confess'd  ; 

Folly  by  thee  lies  sleeping  in  the  breast, 
And  'tis  in  thee  at  last  that  wisdom  seeks  for  rest. 

Silence,  the  knave's  repute,  the  whore's  good  name, 
The  only  honour  of  the  wishing  dame; 
Thy  very  want  of  tongue  makes  thee  a  kind  of  fame. 

But  couldst  thou  seize  some  tongues  that  now  are 

free, 

How  church  and  state  should  be  obliged  to  thee ; 
At  senate,  and  at  bar,  how  welcome  wouldst  thou  be ! 
15 


226  POPE'S  PpETICAL  WORKS. 

Yet  speech  e'en  there  submissively  withdraws, 
From  rights  of  subjects,  and  the  poor  man's  caiise: 
Then  pompous  Silence  reigns,  and  stills  the  noisy 
laws. 

Past  services  of  friends,  good  deeds  of  foes, 
What  favourites  gain,  and  what  the  nation  owes. 

Fly  the  forgetful  world,  and  in  thy  arms  repose. 
The  country  wit,  religion  of  the  town, 
The  courtier's  learning,  policy  of  the  gown, 

Are  best  by  thee  express'd  ;  and  shine  in  thee  alonci 
The  parson's  cant,  the  lawyer's  sophistry, 
Lord's  quibble,  critic's  jest,  all  end  in  thee, 

All  rest  in  peace  at  last,  and  sleep  eternally. 


ARTEMISIA. 

THOUGH  Artemisia  talks,  by  fits, 
Of  councils,  classics,  fathers,  wits; 

Reads  Malbranche,  Boyle,  and  Locke; 
Yet  in  some  things  methinks  she  fails  : 
'Twere  well  if  she  would  pare  her  nails, 

And  wear  a  cleaner  smock. 

Haughty  and  huge  as  High-Dutch  bride, 
Such  nastiness,  and  so  much  pride 

Are  oddly  join'd  by  fate  : 
On  her  large  squab  you  find  her  spread, 
Like  a  fat  corpse  upon  a  bed, 

That  lies  and  stinks  in  state. 

She  wears  no  colours  (sign  of  grace) 
On  any  part  except  her  face  ; 

All  white  and  black  beside: 
Dauntless  her  look,  her  gesture  proud. 
Her  voice  theatrically  loud, 

And  masculine  her  stride. 


IMITATIONS.  227 

So  have  I  seen,  in  black  and  white, 
A  prating  thing,  a  magpie  hight, 

Majestically  stalk ; 
A  stately,  worthless  animal, 
That  plies  the  tongue,  and  wags  the  tail 

All  flutter,  pride,  and  talk. 


PHRYNE. 

PHRYNE  had  talents  for  mankind, 
Open  she  was,  and  unconfined, 

Like  some  free  port  of  trade  ; 
Merchants  unloaded  here  their  freight, 
And  agents  from  each  foreign  state, 

Here  first  their  entry^  made. 
Her  learning  and  good-breeding  such, 
Whether  the  Italian  or  the  Dutch, 

Spaniards  or  French  came  to  her  ; 
To  all  obliging  she'd  appear : 
'Twas  '  Si  Signor,'  'twas  '  Yaw  Mynheer,' 

'Twas  '  S'il  vous  plait,  Monsieur.' 
Obscure  by  birth,  renown'd  by  crimes, 
Still  changing  names,  religion,  climes, 

At  length  she  turns  a  bride  : 
In  diamonds,  pearls,  and  rich  brocades, 
She  shines  the  first  of  batter'd  jades. 

And  flutters  in  her  pride. 
So  have  I  known  those  insects  fair 
(Which  curious  Germans  hold  so  rare) 

Still  vary  shapes  and  dyes ; 
Still  gain  new  titles  with  new  forms ; 
First  grubs  obscene,  then  wriggling  worms. 

Then  painted  butterflies. 


DR.  SWIFT. 

THE  HAPPY  LIFR  OF  A  COUNTRY  PARSON. 

PAHSOK,  these  things  in  thy  possessing, 
Are  better  than  the  bishop's  blessing  : 


226  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

A  wife  that  makes  conserves ;  a  steed 
That  carries  double  when  there's  need; 
October  store,  and  best  Virginia, 
Tithe  pig,  and  mortuary  guinea ; 
Gazettes  sent  gratis  down,  and  frank'd, 
Por  which  thy  patron's  weekly  thank'd  ; 
A  large  Concordance,  bound  long  since; 
Sermons  to  Charles  the  First,  when  prince; 
A  Chronicle  of  ancient  standing  ; 
A  Chrysostom  to  smooth— thy  band  in ; 
The  Polyglott— three  parts— my  text, 
Howbeit, — likewise— now  to  my  next : 
Lo,  here  the  Septuagint,— and  Paul, 
To  sum  the  whole,— the  close  of  all. 

He  that  has  these,  may  pass  his  life, 
Drink  with  the  'squire,  and  kiss  his  wife; 
On  Sundays  preach,  and  eat  his  fill ; 

And  fast  on  Fridays if  he  will; 

Toast  church  and  queen,  explain  the  news 
Talk  with  church-wardens  about  pews  ; 
Pray  heartily  for  some  new  gift, 
And  shake  his  head  at  Dr.  Sw** 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 

IN  FOUR  EPISTLES 

TO  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  LORD  BOLINGBROKE 


THE  DESIGN. 

HAVING  proposed  to  write  some  pieces  on  human 
life  and  manners,  such  as  (to  use  my  lord  Bacon's 
expression)  'come  home  to  men's  business  and  bo 
soms,'  I  thought  it  more  satisfactory  to  begin  with 
considering  man  in  the  abstract,  his  nature,  and  hi* 
state  :  since,  to  prove  any  moral  duty,  to  enforce  any 


ESSAY  ON  MAN. 


229 


moral  precept,  or  to  examine  the  perfection  or  imper 
fection  of  any  creature  whatsoever,  it  is  necessary 
first  to  know  what  condition  and  relation  it  is  placed 
in,  and  what  is  the  proper  end  and  purpose  of  its 
being. 

The  science  of  human  nature  is,  like  all  other 
sciences,  reduced  to  a  few  clear  points :  there  arc 
not  many  certain  truths  in  this  world.  It  is  there 
fore  in  the  anatomy  of  the  mind  as  in  that  of  the 
body  ;  more  good  will  accrue  to  mankind  by  attend 
ing  to  the  large,  open,  and  perceptible  parts,  than  by 
studying  too  much  such  finer  nerves  and  vessels,  the 
conformations  and  uses  of  which  will  for  ever  es- 
cnpe  our  observation.  The  disputes  are  all  upon 
these  last ;  and  I  will  venture  to  say,  they  have  less 
sharpened  the  wits  than  the  hearts  of  men  against 
each  other,  and  have  diminished  the  practice  more 
than  advan'-ed  the  theory  of  morality.  If  I  could 
flatter  myself  that  this  Essay  has  any  merit,  it  is  in 
steering  betwixt  the  extremes  of  doctrines  seemingly 
opposite,  in  passing  over  terms  utterly  unintelligible, 
and  in  forming  a  temperate,  yet  not  inconsistent,  and 
a  short,  yet  not  imperfect,  system  of  ethics. 

This  I  might  have  done  in  prose ;  but  I  chose  verse 
and  even  rhyme,  for  two  reasons.  The  one  will  ap 
pear  obvious ;  that  principles,  maxims,  or  precepts, 
so  written,  both  strike  the  reader  more  strongly  at 
first,  and  are  more  easily  retained  by  him  afterwards; 
the  other  may  seem  odd,  but  it  is  true :  I  found  1 
could  express  them  more  shortly  this  way  than  in 
prose  itself;  and  nothing  is  more  certain,  than  that 
much  of  the  force,  as  well  as  the  grace  of  arguments 
or  instructions,  depends  on  their  conciseness.  I  was 
unable  to  treat  this  part  of  my  subject  more  in  de 
tail,  without  becoming  dry  and  tedious;  or  more  poeti 
cally,  without  sacrificing  perspicuity  to  ornament, 
without  wandering  from  the  precision,  or  breaking 
the  chain  of  reasoning :  if  any  man  can  unite  all 


230  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

these  without  dimination  of  any  of  them,  I  freelj 
confess  he  will  compass  a  thing  above  my  capacity. 
What  is  now  published,  is  only  to  be  considered  as 
a  general  map  of  man,  marking  out  no  more  than 
the  greater  parts,  their  extent,  their  limits,  and  their 
connexion,  but  leaving  the  particular  to  be  more 
fully  delineated  in  the  charts  which  are  to  follow. 
Consequently  these  Epistles,  in  their  progress,  (if  I 
have  health  and  leisure  to  make  any  progress,)  will 
be  less  dry,  and  more  susceptible  of  poetical  orna 
ment.  I  am  here  only  opening  the  fountains,  and 
clearing  the  passage.  To  deduce  the  rivers,  to  fol 
low  them  in  their  course,  and  to  observe  their  effects, 
may  be  a  task  more  agreeable. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 


ARGUMENT  OF  EPISTLE  I. 

Of  the  Nature  and  State  of  Man  with  respect  to 
the  Universe. 

Of  man  in  the  abstract.  I.  That  we  can  judge  only  with 
regard  to  our  own  system,  being  ignorant  of  the  relations 
of  systems  and  things,  ver.  17,  Ac.  II.  That  man  is  not 
to  be  deemed  imperfect,  but  a  being  suited  to  his  place  and 
rank  in  the  creation,  agreeable  to  the  general  order  of 
things,  and  conformable  to  ends  and  relations  to  him  un 
known,  ver.  35,  &c.  III.  That  it  is  partly  upon  his  igno 
rance  of  future  events,  and  partly  upon  the  hope  of  a  fu 
ture  state,  that  all  his  happiness  in  the  present  depends, 
ver.  77,  &c.  IV.  Theprideof  aiming  at  more  knowledge, 
and  pretending  to  more  perfection,  the  cause  of  man's 
error  and  misery.  The  impiety  of  putting  himself  in  the 
place  of  God,  and  judging  the  fitness  or  unfitness,  perfec 
tion  or  imperfection,  justice  or  injustice,  of  his  dispensa 
tions,  ver.  109,  &c.  V.  The  absurdity  of  conceiting  him 
self  the  final  cause  of  the  creation,  or  expecting  that  perfeo 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  231 

lion  in  the  moral  world,  which  is  not  in  the  natural,  ver. 
131,  &c.  VI.  The  unreasonableness  of  his  complaints 
against  Providence,  while  on  the  one  hand  he  demands 
the  perfection  of  the  angels,  and  on  the  other  the  bodily 
qualifications  of  the  brutes  ;  though  to  possess  any  of  the 
sensitive  faculties  in  a  higher  degree,  would  render  him 
miserable,  ver.  173,  &c.  VII.  That  throughout  the  whole 
visible  world,  an  universal  order  and  gradation  in  the 
sensual  and  mental  faculties  is  observed,  which  causes  a 
subordination  of  creature  to  creature,  and  of  all  creatures 
to  man.  The  gradations  of  sense,  instinct,  thought,  reflec 
tion,  reason  ;  that  reason  alone  countervails  all  the  other 
faculties,  ver.  207.  VIII.  How  much  farther  this  order 
and  subordination  of  living  creatures  may  extend  above 
and  below  us  ;  were  any  part  of  whicli  broken,  not  that 
part  only,  but  the  whole  connected  creation  must  be  des 
troyed,  ver.  233.  IX.  The  extravagance,  madness,  and 
pride  of  such  a  desire,  vor.  250.  X.  The  consequence  of 
all,  the  absolute  submission  due  to  Providence,  both  as  to 
our  present  and  future  state,  ver.  281.  to  the  end. 

EPISTLE  I. 

A.WAKK,  my  St.  John  !  leave  all  meaner  things 
To  low  ambition,  and  the  pride  of  kings  : 
Let  us  (since  life  can  little  more  supply 
Than  just  to  look  about  us,  and  to  die) 
Expatiate  free  o'er  all  this  scene  of  man ; 
A  mighty  maze!  but  not  without  apian  : 
A  wild,  where  weeds  and  flowers  promiscuous  shoot  j 
Or  garden,  tempting  with  forbidden  fruit 
Together  let  us  beat  this  ample  field, 
Try  what  the  open,  what  the  covert  yield  ; 
The  latent  tracts,  the  giddy  heights  explore 
Of  all  who  blindly  creep,  or  sightless  soar; 
Eye  nature's  walks,  shoot  folly  as  it  flies, 
And  catch  the  manners  living'as  they  rise  : 
Laugh  where  we  must,  be  candid  where  we  can, 
But  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man. 

I.  Say  first,  of  God  above,  or  man  below, 
What  can  we  reason,  but  from  what  we  know  : 


232  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Of  man,  what  see  we  but  his  station  here, 

From  which  to  reason,  or  to  which  refer '?  20 

Through  worlds  unnumber'd   though  the  God  ba 

'Tis  ours  to  trace  him  only  in  our  own.        [known, 

He,  who  through  vast  immensity  can  pierce, 

See  worlds  on  worlds  compose  one  universe, 

Observe  how  system  into  system  runs, 

What  other  planets  circle  other  suns, 

What  varied  being  peoples  every  star, 

May  tell  why  heavens  has  made  us  as  we  are. 

But  of  this  frame,  the  bearings  and  the  ties, 

The  strong  connexions,  nice  dependencies,  30 

Gradations  just,  has  thy  pervading  soul 

Look'd  through?  or  can  a  part  contain  the  whole? 

Is  the  great  chain  that  draws  all  to  agree, 
And  drawn  supports,  upheld  by  God,  or  thee? 

II.  Presumptuous  man  !  the  reason  wouldst  thou 
Why  form'd  so  weak,  so  little  and  so  blind?    [find, 
F'irst,  if  thou  canst,  the  harder  reason  guess, 
Why  form'd  no  weaker,  blinder,  and  no  less  1 
Ask  of  thy  mother  earth,  why  oaks  are  made 
Taller  or  stronger  than  the  weeds  they  shade?      40 
Or  ask  of  yonder  argent  fields  above, 
Why  Jove's  satellites  are  less  than  Jove. 

Of  systems  possible,  if  'tis  confess'd, 
That  wisdom  infinite  must  form  the  best, 
Where  all  must  fai!  or  not  coherent  be, 
And  all  that  rises,  rise  in  due  degree  ; 
Then,  in  the  scale  of  reasoning  life,  'tis  plain, 
There  must  be  somewhere,  such  a  rank  as  man : 
And  all  the  question  (wrangle  e'er  so  long) 
Is  only  this,  if  God  has  placed  him  wrong  ?  5* 

Respecting  man,  whatever  wrong  we  call, 
May,  must  be  right,  as  relative  to  all. 
In  human  works,  though  labour'd  on  with  pain, 
A  thousand  movements  scarce  one  purpose  gain : 
In  God's  one  single  can  its  end  produce  ; 
V^et  serve  to  second  too  some  other  use: 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  233 

So  man  who  here  seems  principal  alone, 
Perhaps  acts  second  to  some  sphere  unknown, 
Touches  some  wheel,  or  verges  to  some  goal : 
'Tis  but  a  part  we  see,  and  not  a  whole.  60 

When  the  proud  steed  shall  knowwhyman  restrains 
His  fiery  course,  or  drives  him  o'er  the  plains ; 
When  the  dull  ox,  why  now  he  breaks  the  clod, 
Is  now  a  victim,  and  now  Egypt's  god, 
Then  shall  man's  pride  and  dulness  comprehend 
His  actions',  passions',  being's  use  and  end; 
Why  doing,  suffering,  check'd,  irnpell'd  ;  and  why- 
Tins  hour  a  slave,  the  next  a  deity. 

Then  say  not  man's  imperfect,  Heaven  in  fault : 
Say  rather,  man's  as  perfect  as  he  ought  :  70 

His  knowledge  measured  to  his  state  and  place, 
His  time  a  moment,  and  a  point  his  space. 
If  to  be  perfect  in  a  certain  sphere, 
What  matter,  soon  or  late,  or  here  or  there? 
The  bless'd  to-day  is  as  completely  so, 
As  who  began  a  thousand  years  ago. 

III.  Heavenfrom  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  fate, 
All  but  the  page  prescribed,  their  present  state; 
From  brutes  what  men,  from  men  what  spirits  know 
Or  who  could  suffer  being  here  below?  80 

The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
Had  he  thy  reason,  would  he  skip  and  play? 
Pleased  to  the  last,  he  crops  the  flowery  food, 
And  licks  ihe  hand  just  raised  to  shed  his  blood. 
Oh  blindness  to  the  future  !  kindly  given, 
That  each  may  fill  the  circle  mark'd  by  Heaven ; 
Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 
A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall, 
Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurl'd, 
And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world.  90 

Hope  humbly  then  ;  with  trembling  pinions  soar 
Wait  the  great  teacher,  Death  ;  and  God  adore. 
What  future  bliss,  he  gives  not  thee  to  know, 
But  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing  now. 


234  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast . 
Man  never  Is,  but  always  To  be  bless' d : 
The  soul,  uneasy,  and  confined  from  home, 
Rests  and  expatiates  on  a  life  to  come. 

Lo,  the  poor  Indian  !  whose  untutor'd  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  him  in  the  wind ;     IOC 
His  soul  proud  science  never  taught  to  stray 
Par  as  the  solar  walk,  or  milky  way ; 
Vet  simple  nature  to  his  hope  has  given, 
Bcnind  the  cloud-topp'd  hill,  an  humbler  heaven ; 
Some  safer  world  in  depth  of  woods  embraced, 
Some  happier  island  in  the  watery  waste, 
Where  slaves  once  more  their  native  land  behold 
No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for  gold. 
To  be,  contents  his  natural  desire, 
He  asks  no  angel's  wing,  no  seraph's  fire;          110 
But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 
His  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company. 

IV.  Go  wiser  thou !  and  in  thy  scale  of  sense, 
Weigh  thy  opinion  against  Providence ; 

Call  imperfection  what  thou  fanciest  such 

Say,  here  he  gives  too  little,  there  too  much 

Destroy  all  creatures  for  thy  sport  or  gust, 

Yet  say,  if  man's  unhappy,  God's  unjust . 

If  man  alone  engross  not  Heaven's  high  care, 

Alone  made  perfect  here,  immortal  there :  120 

Snatch  from  his  hand  the  balance  and  the  rod, 

Re-judge  his  justice,  be  the  god  of  God. 

In  pride,  in  reasoning  pride,  our  error  lies ; 

All  quit  their  sphere,  anrl  rush  into  the  skies. 

Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  bless'd  abodes, 

Men  would  be  angels,  angels  would  be  gods. 

Aspiring  to  be  gods,  if  angels  fell, 

Aspiring  to  be  angels,  men  rebel : 

And  who  but  wishes  to  invert  the  laws 

Of  order,  sins  against  the  Eternal  Cause  13P 

V.  Ask  for  what  end  the  heavenly  bodies  shine, 
Earth  for  whose  use?  Pride  answers,  '  'Tis  for  mine  i 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  235 

For  me  kind  nature  wakes  her  genial  power ; 
Suckles  each  herb,  and  spreads  out  every  flower 
Annual  for  me,  the  grape,  the  rose,  renew 
The  juice  nectareous,  and  the  balmy  dew, 
For  me,  the  mine  a  thousand  treasures  brings ; 
For  me,  health  gushes  from  a  thousand  springs ; 
Seas  roll  to  waft  me,  suns  to  light  me  rise ; 
My  foot-stool  earth,  my  canopy  the  skies.'  140 

But  errs  not  nature  from  this  gracious  end, 
From  burning  suns  when  livid  deaths  descend, 
When  earthquakes  swallow,  or  when  tempests  sweep 
Towns  to  one  grave,  whole  nations  to  the  deep  ? 
'No,'  'tis  replied,  '  the  first  Almighty  Cause 
Acts  not  by  partial,  but  by  general  laws ;' 
The  exceptions  few  ;  some  change  since  all  began ; 
And  what  created  perfect  ?— Why  then  man  1 
If  the  great  end  be  human  happiness, 
Then  nature  deviates;  and  can  man  do  less?      150 
As  much  that  end  a  constant  course  requires 
Of  showers  and  sun-shine,  as  of  man's  desires? 
As  much  eternal  springs  and  cloudless  skies, 
As  men  for  ever  temperate,  calm,  and  wise. 
If  plagues  or  earthquakes  break  not  Heaven's  design, 
Why  then  a  Borgia,  or  a  Catiline  ? 
Who  knows,  but  he  whose  hand  the  lightning  forms, 
Who  heaves  old  Ocean,  and  who  wings  the  storms, 
Pours  fierce  ambition  in  a  Caesar's  mind, 
Or  turns  youngAmmon  loose  to  scourge  mankind?  160 
From  pride,  from  pride,  our  very  reasoning  springs ; 
Account  for  moral  as  for  natural  things : 
Why  charge  we  Heaven  in  those,  in  these  acquit  ? 
In  both,  to  reason  right,  is  to  submit. 

Better  for  us,  perhaps,  it  might  appear, 
Were  there  all  harmony,  all  virtue  here; 
That  never  air  or  ocean  felt  the  wind, 
That  never  passion  discomposed  the  mind. 
But  all  subsists  by  elemental  strife ; 
And  passions  are  the  elements  of  life.  170 


236         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  general  order  since  the  whole  began, 
Is  kept  in  nature,  and  is  kept  in  man. 

VI.  What  would  this  man?  Now  upward  willhe  soar 
And,  little  less  than  angel,  would  be  more ; 

Now  looking  downwards,  just  as  grieved  appears 

To  want  the  strength  of  bulls,  the  fur  of  bears. 

Made  for  his  use  all  creatures  if  he  call, 

Say  what  their  use,  had  he  the  powers  of  all  ? 

.Nature  to  these,  without  profusion,  kind, 

The  proper  organs,  proper  powers  assign'd;          180 

Each  seeming  want  compensated  ;  of  course, 

Here  with  degrees  of  swiftness,  there  of  force  ; 

All  in  exact  proportion  to  the  state ; 

Nothing  to  add,  and  nothing  to  abate. 

Each  beast,  each  insect,  happy  in  its  own: 

Is  Heaven  unkind  to  man,  and  man  alone  ? 

Shall  he  alone,  whom  rational  we  call, 

Be  pleased  with  nothing,  if  not  bless'd  with  all  ? 

The  bliss  <  f  man  (could  pride  that  blessing  find) 
Is  not  to  act  or  think  beyond  mankind;  19C 

No  powers  of  body  or  of  soul  to  share, 
But  what  his  nature  and  his  state  can  bear. 
Why  has  not  man  a  microscopic  eye  ? 
For  this  plain  reason,  man  is  not  a  fly. 
Say  what  the  use,  were  finer  optics  given, 
To  inspect  a  mite,  not  comprehend  the  heaven  ? 
Or  touch,  if  tremblingly  alive  all  o'er, 
To  smart  and  agonize  at  every  pore  ? 
Or  quick  effluvia  darting  through  the  brain, 
Die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain  ?  200 

If  Nature  thunder'd  in  his  opening  ears, 
And  stunn'd  him  with  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
How  would  he  wish  that  Heaven  had  left  him  still 
The  whispering  zephyr,  and  the  purling  rill ! 
Who  finds  not  Providence  all  good  and  wise, 
Alike  in  what  it  gives,  and  what  denies  ? 

VII.  Far  as  creation's  ample  range  extends. 
The  scale  of  sensual,  mental,  powers  ascends  : 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  237 

Mark  how  it  mounts  to  man's  imperial  race, 
From  the  green  myriads  in  the  peopled  grass :    210 
What  modes  of  sight  betwixt  each  wide  extreme, 
The  mole's  dim  curtain,  and  the  lynx's  beam ; 
Of  smell,  the  headlong  lioness  between, 
And  hound  sagacious  on  the  tainted  green  ; 
Of  hearing,  from  the  life  that  fills  the  flood, 
To  that  which  warbles  through  the  vernal  wood! 
The  spider's  touch  how  exquisitely  fine ! 
Feels  at  each  thread,  and  lives  along  the  line; 
In  the  nice  bee,  what  sense  so  subtly  true, 
From  poisonous  herbs  extracts  the  healing  dew  1  220 
How  instinct  varies  in  the  grovelling  swine, 
Compared,  half-reasoning  elephant,  with  thine? 
Twixt  that  and  reason  what  a  nice  barrier ; 
For  ever  separate,  yet  for  ever  near  ! 
Remembrance  and  reflection  how  allied  ; 
What  thin  partitions  sense  from  thought  divide ! 
And  middle  natures,  how  they  long  to  join, 
Yet  never  pass  the  insuperable  line  ! 
Without  this  just  gradation,  could  they  be 
Subjected,  these  to  those,  or  all  to  thee?  230 

The  powers  of  all  subdued  by  thee  alone, 
Is  not  thy  reason  all  these  powers  in  one  ? 

VIII.  See,  through  this  air, this  ocean,  and  this  earth, 
All  matter  quick,  and  bursting  into  birth. 
Above,  how  high  progressive  life  may  go  ! 
Around,  how  wide !  how  deep  extend  below  ! 
Vast  chain  «f  being  !  which  from  God  began, 
Natures  ethereal,  human,  angel,  man, 
Beast,  bird,  fish,  insect,  which  no  eye  can  see, 
No  glass  can  reach ;  from  infinite  to  thee ;          24§ 
From  thee  to  nothing. — On  superior  powers 
Were  we  to  press,  inferior  might  on  ours  : 
Or  in  the  full  creation  leave  a  void, 
Where,  one  step  broken,  the  great  scale's  destroy'd 
From  nature's  chain  whatever  link  you  strike, 
•  enth,  or  ten  thousandth,  breaks  the  chain  alike. 


238          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And,  if  each  system  in  gradation  roll 
Alike  essential  to  the  amazing  whole, 
The  least  confusion  but  in  one,  not  all 
That  system  only,  but  the  whole  must  fall.          261 
Let  earth  unbalanced  from  her  orbit  fly, 
Planets  and  suns  run  lawless  through  the  sky ; 
Let  ruling  angels  from  their  spheres  be  hurl'd, 
Being  on  being  wreck'd,  and  world  on  world  ; 
Heaven's  whole  foundations  to  their  centre  nod, 
And  nature  trembles  to  the  throne  of  God. 
All  this  dread  order  break— for  whom  ?  for  thee? 
Vile  worm  ! — oh  madness  !  pride  !  impiety  ! 

IX.  What  if  the  foot,  ordain'd  the  dust  to  tread, 
Or  hand,  to  toil,  aspired  to  be  the  head?  269 
What  if  the  head,  the  eye,  or  ear,  repined 

To  serve  mere  engines  to  the  ruling  mind  1 
Just  as  absurd  for  any  part  to  claim 
To  be  another  in  this  general  frame ; 
Just  as  absurd,  to  mourn  the  task  or  pains 
The  great  directing  Mind  of  all  ordains. 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
Whose  body  Nature  is,  and  God  the  soul ; 
That,  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same, 
Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  the  ethereal  frame  ;        270 
Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees  ; 
Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent ; 
Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart; 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns, 
As  the  rapt  seraph  that  adores  and  burns  ; 
To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small ; 
He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all.        28* 

X.  Cease  then,  nor  order  imperfection  name  : 
Our  proper  bliss  depends  on  what  we  blame. 
Know  thy  own  point :  this  kind,  this  due  degree 
Of  blindness,  weakness,  Heaven  bestows  on  thee. 


ESSAY  ON  MAN 


239 


Submit. — In  this,  or  any  other  sphere, 

Secure  to  be  as  bless'd  as  thou  canst  bear  : 

Safe  in  the  hand  of  one  disposing  Power, 

Or  in  the  natal,  or  the  mortal  hour. 

All  nature  is  but  art,  unknown  to  thee 

All  chance,  direction  which  thou  canst  not  see  :  291 

All  discord,  harmony  not  understood  ; 

All  partial  evil,  universal  good. 

And,  spite  of  pride,  in  erring  reason's  spite, 

One  truth  is  clear,  WHATEVER  is,  is  BIGHT. 


ARGUMENT  OF  EPISTLE  II. 

On  the  Nature  and  State  of  Man  with  respect  to 
himself,  as  an  Individual. 

L  The  business  of  man  not  to  pry  into  God,  but  to  study 
himself.  His  middle  nature  ;  his  powers  and  frailties, 
ver.  1  to  19.  The  limits  of  his  capacity,  ver.  19,  &c.  II. 
The  two  principles  of  man,  self-love  and 'reason,  both  ne 
cessary,  ver.  53,  &c.  Self-love  the  stronger,  and  why,  ver. 
07,  &c.  Their  end  the  same,  ver.  81,  <fec.  III.  The  pas 
sions,  and  their  use,  ver.  93  to  130.  The  predominant 
passion,  and  its  force,  ver.  132  to  160.  Its  necessity,  in 
directing  men  to  different  purposes,  ver.  165,  <fcc.  Its  pro 
vidential  use,  in  fixing  our  principle,  and  ascertaining 
our  virtue,  ver.  177.  IV.  Virtue  and  vice  joined  in  our 
mixed  nature;  the  limits  near,  yet  the  things  separate  and 
evident :  what  is  the  office  of  reason,  ver.  202  to  216. 
V.  How  odious  vice  in  itself,  and  how  we  deceive  our 
selves  into  it,  ver.  217.  VL  That,  however,  the  ends  of 
Providence  and  general  good  are  answered  in  our  passions 
and  imperfections,  ver.  231,  &c.  How  usefully  these  are 
distributed  to  all  orders  of  men,  ver.  241.  How  usefu] 
they  are  to  society,  ver.  251.  And  to  individuals,  ver.  263. 
In  every  state,  and  every  age  of  life,  ver.  273,  &.c. 

EPISTLE  II. 

I.  KNOW  then  thyself,  presume  not  God  to  scan  • 
The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man. 


240          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Placed  on  this  isthmus  of  a  middle  state, 

A  being  darkly  wise,  and  rudely  great : 

With  too  much  knowledge  for  the  sceptic  side, 

With  too  much  weakness  for  the  Stoic's  pride, 

He  hangs  between  ;  in  doubt  to  act,  or  rest ; 

In  doubt  to  deem  himself  a  god,  or  beast ; 

In  doubt  his  mind  or  body  to  prefer ; 

Born  but  to  die,  and  reasoning  but  to  err;  1 0 

Alike  in  ignorance,  his  reason  such, 

Whether  he  thinks  too  little  or  too  much ; 

Chaos  of  thought  and  passion,  all  confused ; 

Still  by  himself  abused  or  disabused  ; 

Created  half  to  rise,  or  half  to  fall ; 

Great  lord  of  all  things,  yet  a  prey  to  all ; 

Sole  judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  hurl'd 

The  glpry,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world  ! 

Go,  wondrous  creature!  mount  where  science  guides, 
Go,  measure  earth,  weigh  air,  and  state  the  tides ;    20 
Instruct  the  planets  in  what  orbs  to  run, 
Correct  old  time,  and  regulate  the  sun  ; 
Go,  soar  with  Plato  to  the  empyred  sphere, 
To  the  first  good,  first  perfect,  and  first  fair ; 
Or  tread  the  mazy  round  his  followers  trod, 
And  quitting  sense  call  imitating  God ; 
As  Eastern  priests  in  giddy  circles  run, 
And  turn  their  heads  to  imitate  the  sun. 
Go,  teach  Eternal  Wisdom  how  to  rule — 
Then  drop  into  thyself,  and  be  a  fool !  30 

Superior  beings,  when  of  late  they  saw 
A  mortal  man  unfold  all  nature's  law, 
Admired  such  wisdom  in  an  earthly  shape, 
And  show'd  a  Newton  as  we  show  an  ape. 

Could  he,  whose  rules  the  rapid  comet  bind, 
Describe  or  fix  one  movement  of  his  mind  ? 
Who  saw  its  fires  here  rise,  and  there  descend, 
Explain  his  own  beginning  or  his  end  ? 
Alas,  what  wonder  !  Man's  superior  part 
Uncheck'd  may  rise,  and  climb  from  art  to  art;       40 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  341 

But  wnen  his  own  great  work  is  but  begun, 
What  reason  weaves,  by  passion  is  undone, 

Trace  science  then,  with  modesty  thy  guide; 
First  strip  off  all  her  equipage  of  pride : 
Deduct  what  is  but  vanity  or  dress, 
Or  learning's  luxury,  or  idleness : 
Or  tricks  to  show  the  stretch  of  human  brain, 
Mere  curious  pleasure,  or  ingenious  pain  : 
Expunge  the  whole,  or  lop  the  excrescent  parts 
Of  all  our  vices  have  created  arts  :  60 

Then  see  how  little  the  remaining  sum, 
Which  served  the  past,  and  must  the  times  to  come ! 

II.  Two  principles  in  human  nature  reign  ; 
Self-love  to  urge,  and  reason  to  restrain  : 
Nor  this  a  good,  nor  that  a  bad  we  call, 
Each  works  its  end,  to  move  or  govern  all : 
And  to  their  proper  operation  still, 
Ascribe  all  good,  to  their  improper,  ill.  - 

Self-love,  the  spring  of  motion,  acts  the  soul 
Reason's  comparing  balance  rules  the  whole.        60 
Man,  but  for  that,  no  action  could  attend, 
And.  but  for  this,  were  active  to  no  end  : 
Fix'd  like  a  plant  on  his  peculiar  spot, 
To  draw  nutrition,  propagate,  and  rot; 
Or,  meteor-like,  flame  lawless  through  the  void, 
Destroying  others,  by  himself  destroy'd. 

Most  strength  the  moving  principle  requires  • 
Active  its  task,  it  prompts,  impels,  inspires. 
Sedate  and  quiet  the  comparing  lies, 
Form'd  but  to  check,  deliberate,  and  advise.         70 
Self-love  still  stronger,  as  its  object's  nigh  ; 
Reason's  at  distance,  and  in  prospect  lie  : 
That  sees  immediate  good  by  present  sense ; 
Reason,  the  future  and  the  consequence. 
Thicker  than  arguments  temptations  throng, 
At  best  more  watchful  this,  but  that  more  strong. 
The  action  of  the  stronger  to  suspend, 
Reason  still  use,  to  reason  still  attend. 
16 


842          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Attention  habit  and  experience  gains; 

Each  strengthens  reason,  and  self-love  restrains.  80 

Let  subtle  schoolmen  teach  these  friends  to  fight, 

More  studious  to  divide  than  to  unite ; 

And  grace  and  virtue,  sense  and  reason  split, 

With  all  the  rash  dexterity  of  wit. 

Wits,  just  like  fools,  at  war  about  a  name, 

Have  full  as  oft  no  meaning  or  the  same. 

Self-love  and  reason  to  one  end  aspire, 

Pain  their  aversion,  pleasure  their  desire ; 

But  greedy  that,  its  object  would  devour, 

This  taste  the  honey,  and  not  wound  the  flower  :  90 

Pleasure,  or  wrong  or  rightly  understood, 

Our  greatest  evil,  or  our  greatest  good. 

III.  Modes  of  self-love  the  passions  we  may  call  • 
'Tis  real  good,  or  seeming,  moves  them  all : 
But  since  not  every  good  we  can  divide, 
And  reason  bids  us  for  our  own  provide  : 
Passions,  though  selfish,  if  their  means  be  fair, 
List  under  reason,  and  deserve  her  care  ; 
Those,  that  imparted,  court  a  nobler  aim, 
Exalt  their  kind,  and  take  some  virtue's  name.    1W> 

In  lazy  apathy  let  Stoics  boast 
Their  virtue's  fix'd  :  'tis  fix'd  as  in  a  frost ; 
Contracted  all,  retiring  to  the  breast; 
But  strength  of  mind  is  exercise,  not  rest : 
The  rising  tempest  puts  in  act  the  soul ; 
Parts  it  may  ravage,  but  preserve  the  whole. 
On  life's  vast  ocean  diversely  we  sail, 
Reason  the  card,  but  passion  is  the  gale  ; 
Nor  God  alone  in  the  still  calm  we  find, 
He  mounts  the  storm,  and  walks  upon  the  wind.  1 10 

Passions,  like  elements,  though  born  to  fight, 
Yet  mix'd  and  soften'd,  in  his  work  unite: 
These  'tis  enough  to  temper  and  employ; 
But  what  composes  man,  can  man  destroy  1 
Suffice  that  reason  keep  to  nature's  road, 
Subject,  compound  them,  follow  her  and  God. 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  243 

Love,  hope,  and  joy,  fair  pleasure's  smiling  train ; 
Hate,  fear,  and  grief,  the  family  of  pain  ; 
These  mix'd  with  art,  and  to  due  bounds  confin'd, 
Make  and  maintain  the  balance  of  the  mind  :      12C 
The  lights  and  shades,  whose  well-accorded  strife 
Gives  all  the  strength  and  colour  of  our  life. 

Pleasures  are  ever  in  our  hands  and  eyes ; 
And  when  in  act  they  cease,  in  prospect  rise  : 
Present  to  grasp,  and  future  still  to  find, 
The  whole  employ  of  body  and  of  mind, 
All  spread  their  charms,  but  charm  not  all  alike 
On  different  senses,  different  objects  strike : 
Hence  different  passions  more  or  less  inflame, 
As  strong  or  weak,  the  organs  of  the  frame  ;       130 
And  hence  one  master  passion  in  the  breast. 
Like  Aaron's  serpent,  swallows  up  the  rest. 
As  man,  perhaps,  the  moment  of  his  breath, 
Receives  the  lurking  principle  of  death  ; 
The  young  disease,  which  must  subdue  at  length, 
Grows  with  his  growth,  and  strengthens  with  his 
So,  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame,  [strength : 
The  mind's  disease,  its  ruling  passion  came ; 
Each  vital  humour,  which  should  feed  the  whole, 
Soon  flows  to  this,  in  body  and  in  soul :  140 

Whatever  warms  the  heart,  or  fills  the  head; 
As  the  mind  opens,  and  its  functions  spread. 
Imagination  plies  her  dangerous  art, 
And  pours  it  all  upon  the  peccant  part. 
Nature  its  mother,  habit  is  its  nurse ; 
Wit,  spirit,  faculties,  but  make  it  worse ; 
Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power ; 
As  Heaven's  blest  beam  turns  vinegar  more  sour. 

We  wretched  subjects,  though  no  lawful  sway, 
In  this  weak  queen  some  favourite  still  obey ;      150 
Ah !  if  she  lent  not  arms,  as  well  as  rules, 
What  can  she  more  than  tell  us  we  are  fools'? 
Teach  us  to  mourn  our  nature,  not  to  mend  : 
A  sharp  accuser,  but  a  helpless^  friend  ! 


244         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Or  from  a  judge  turn  pleader,  to  persuade 

The  choice  we  make,  or  justify  it  made ; 

Proud  of  an  easy  conquest  all  along, 

She  but  removes  weak  passions  for  the  strong. 

So,  when  small  humours  gather  to  a  gout, 

The  doctor  fancies  he  has  driven  them  out.  168 

Yes,  nature's  road  must  ever  be  preferr'd ; 
Reason  is  here  no  guide,  but  still  a  guard  ; 
'Tis  hers  to  rectify,  not  overthrow, 
And  treat  this  passion  more  as  friend  than  foe: 
A  mightier  power  the  strong  direction  sends, 
And  several  men  impels  to  several  ends  : 
Like  varying  winds  by  other  passions  toss'd, 
This  drives  them  constant  to  a  certain  coast. 
Let  power  or  knowledge,  gold  or  glory,  please, 
Or  (oft  more  strong  than  all)  the  love  of  ease ;      170 
Through  life  'tis  follow'd  e'en  at  life's  expense ; 
The  merchant's  toil,  the  sage's  indolence, 
The  monk's  humility,  the  hero's  pride, 
All,  all  alike,  find  reason  on  their  side 

The  Eternal  Art,  educing  good  from  ill, 
Grafts  on  this  passion  our  best  principle: 
'Tis  thus  the  mercury  of  man  is  fix'd, 
Strong  grows  the  virtue  with  his  nature  mix'd  : 
The  dross  cements  what  else  were  too  refined, 
And  in  one  interest  body  acts  with  mind.  ISO 

As  fruits,  ungrateful  to  the  planter's  care, 
On  savage  stocks  inserted  learn  to  bear ; 
The  surest  virtues  thus  from  passions  shoot, 
Wild  nature's  vigour  working  at  the  root. 
What  crops  of  wit  and  honesty  appear 
From  spleen,  from  obstinacy,  hate,  or  fear ! 
See  anger,  zeal  and  fortitude  supply ; 
E'en  avarice,  prudence;  sloth,  philosophy; 
Lust,  through  some  certain  strainers  well  refined, 
Is  gentle  love,  and  charms  all  womankind ;  190 

Envy,  to  which  the  ignoble  mind 's  a  slave, 
Is  emulation  in  the  learn'd  or  brave ; 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  245 

Nor  virtue,  male  or  female,  can  we  name, 

But  what  will  grow  on  pride,  or  grow  on  shame. 

Thus  Nature  gives  us  (let  it  check  our  pride) 
The  virtue  nearest  to  our  vice  allied  : 
Reason  the  bias  turns  to  good  from  ill, 
And  Nero  reigns  a  Titus,  if  he  will. 
The  fiery  toul  abhorr'd  in  Catiline, 
In  Decius  charms,  in  Curtius  is  divine-.  200 

The  same  ambition  can  destroy  or  save, 
And  makes  a  patriot  as  it  makes  a  knave. 

IV.  This  light  and  darkness  in  our  chaos  join'd, 
What  shall  divide?  The  God  within  the  mind. 
Extremes  in  nature  equal  ends  produce, 

In  man  they  join  to  some  mysterious  use; 
Though  each  by  turns  the  other's  bounds  invade, 
As,  in  some  well-wrought  picture,  light  and  shade, 
And  oft  so  mix,  the  difference  is  too  nice 
Where  ends  the  virtue,  or  begins  the  vice.  £11 

Fools  !  who  from  hence  into  the  notion  fall, 
That  vice  and  virtue  there  is  none  at  all. 
If  white  and  black  blend,  soften,  and  unite 
A  thousand  ways,  is  there  no  black  or  white? 
Ask  your  own  heart,  and  nothing  is  so  plain  ; 
'Tis  to  mistake  them,  costs  the  time  and  pain. 

V.  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mein, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen  ; 

Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 

We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace.  22rf 

But  where  the  extreme  of  vice,  was  ne'er  agreed ; 

Ask  where's  the  north?  at  York,  'tis  on  the  Tweed: 

In  Scotland,  at  the  Orcades  ;  and  there, 

At  Greenland,  Zembla,  or  the  Lord  knows  where. 

No  creature  owns  it  in  the  first  degree, 

But  thinks  his  neighbour  farther  gone  than  he  : 

E'en  those  who  dwell  beneath  its  very  zone, 

Or  never  feel  the  rage,  or  never  own  ; 

What  happier  nature  shrink  at  with  affright 

The  hard  inhabitant  contends  is  right.  -J3I 


246  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Virtuous  and  vicious  every  man  must  be, 
Pew  iii  the  extreme,  but  all  in  the  degree ; 
The  rogue  and  fool  by  fits  is  fair  and  wise ; 
And  e'en  the  best,  by  fits,  what  they  despise. 
'Tis  but  by  parts  we  follow  good  or  ill ; 
For,  vice  or  virtue,  self  directs  it  still ; 
Each  individual  seeks  a  several  goal ; 
But  Heaven's  great  view,  is  one,  and  that  the  whole. 
That  counterworks  each  folly  and  caprice; 
That  disappoints  the  effects  of  every  vice ;  240 

That,  happy  frailties  to  all  ranks  applied, 
Shame  to  the  virgin,  to  the  matron  pride ; 
Fear  to  the  statesman,  rashness  to  the  chief; 
To  kings  presumption,  and  to  crowds  belief: 
That,  virtue's  ends  from  vanity  can  raise, 
Which  seeks  no  interest,  no  reward  but  praise  ; 
And  build  on  wants,  and  on  defects  of  mind, 
The  joy,  the  peace,  the  glory  of  mankind. 

Heaven  forming  each  on  other  to  depend 
A  master,  or  a  servant,  or  a  friend,  250 

Bids  each  on  other  for  assistance  call, 
Till  one  man's  weakness  grows  the  strength  of  all. 
Wants,  frailties,  passions,  closer  still  ally 
The  common  interest,  or  endear  the  tie. 
To  these  we  owe  true  friendship,  love  sincere, 
Each  home-felt  joy  that  life  inherits  here ; 
Yet  from  the  same  we  learn,  in  its  decline 
Those  joys,  those  loves,  those  interests,  to  resign. 
Taught  half  by  reason,  half  by  mere  decay, 
To  welcome  death,  and  calmly  pass  away.  280 

Whate'er  the  passion,  knowledge,  fame,  or  pelf, 
Not  one  will  change  his  neighbour  with  himself. 
The  learn'd  is  happy  nature  to  explore, 
The  fool  is  happy  that  he  knows  no  more ; 
The  rich  is  happy  in  the  plenty  given  ; 
The  poor  contents  him  with  the  care  of  Heaven. 
See  the  blind  beggar  dance,  the  cripple  sing, 
Tb«  sot  a  hero,  lunatic  a  king; 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  24r 

The  starving  chemist  in  his  golden  views 
Supremely  bless'd  ;  the  poet  in  his  muse.  270 

See  some  strange  comfort  every  state  attend 
And  pride  bestow'd  on  all,  a  common  friend  : 
See  some  fit  passion  every  age  supply  ; 
Hope  travels  through,  nor  quits  us  when  we  die. 

Behold  the  child,  by  nature's  kindly  law, 
Pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  straw : 
Some  livelier  play-thing  gives  his  youth  delight, 
A  little  louder,  but  as  empty  quite  : 
Scarfs,  garters,  gold,  amuse  his  riper  stage, 
And  beads  and  prayer-books  are  the  toys  of  age :    280 
Pleased  with  this  bauble  still,  as  that  before ; 
'Till  tired,  he  sleeps,  and  life's  poor  play  is  o'er. 

Meanwhile  opinion  gilds  with  varying  rays, 
Those  painted  clouds  that  beautify  our  days : 
Each  want  of  happiness  by  hope  supplied, 
And  each  vacuity  of  sense  by  pride  : 
These  build  as  fast  as  knowledge  can  destroy, 
In  folly's  cup  still  laughs  the  bubble  joy ; 
One  prospect  lost,  another  still  we  gain  ; 
And  not  a  vanity  is  given  in  vain ;  290 

E'en  mean  self-love  becomes,  by  force  divine, 
The  scale  to  measure  others'  wants  by  thine. 
See  !  and  confess,  one  comfort  still  must  rise ; 
'Tis  this,  Though  man  's  a  fool,  yet  GOD  is  WISE. 


ARGUMENT  OF  EPISTLE  III. 

Of  the  Nature  and  State  of  Man  with  respect  to 

Society. 

I.  The  whole  universe  one  system  of  society,  ver.  7,  SLK 
Nothing  made  wholly  for  itself,  nor  yet  wholly  foi 
another,  ver.  27.  Tlin  happiness  of  animals  mutual 
ver.  49.  II.  Reason  or  instinct  operate  alike  to  the 
good  of  each  individual,  ver.  79.  Reason  or  instmcj 
operate  also  to  society  in  all  animals,  ver.  109.  HI 


248  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

How  far  society  carried  by  instinct,  ver.  115.  How  much 
farther  by  reason,  ver.  128.  IV.  Of  that  which  is  calico 
the  state  of  nature,  ver.  144.  Reason  instructed  by  in 
stinct  in  the  invention  uf  arts,  ver.  166,  and  in  the  forma 
of  society,  ver.  176.  V.  Origin  of  political  societies,  ver. 
196.  Origin  of  monarchy,  ver.  207.  Patriarchal  govern 
ment,  ver.  212.  VI.  Origin  of  true  religion  and  govern 
ment,  from  the  same  principle  of  love,  ver.  231,  &c.  Ori 
gin  of  superstition  and  tyranny,  from  the  same  principle 
of  fear,  ver.  337,  &c.  The  influence  of  self-love  opera 
ting  to  the  social  and  public  good,  ver.  266.  Restoration  o' 
true  religion  and  government,  on  their  first  principle,  ver. 
2S5.  Mixed  government,  ver.  268.  Various  forms  of  each, 
and  the  true  end  of  all,  ver.  300,  <fec. 


EPISTLE  III. 

HERE  then  we  rest :  '  The  universal  cause 
Acts  to  one  end,  but  acts  by  various  laws.' 
In  all  the  madness  of  superfluous  health, 
The  train  of  pride,  the  impudence  of  wealth, 
Let  this  great  truth  be  present  night  and  day 
But  most  be  present,  if  we  preach  or  pray. 

I.  Look  round  our  world ;  behold  the  chain  of  lov( 
Combining  all  below  and  all  above. 
See  plastic  Nature  working  to  this  end, 
The  single  atoms  each  to  other  tend,  10 

Attract,  attracted  to,  the  next  in  nlace 
Form'd  and  impell'd  its  neighbour  to  embrace. 
See  matter  next,  with  various  life  endued, 
Press  to  one  centre  still,  the  general  good. 
See  dying  vegetables  life  sustain, 
See  life  dissolving  vegetate  again  : 
All  forms  that  perish  other  forms  supply, 
(By  turns  we  catch  the  vital  breath  and  die,) 
Like  bubbles  on  the  sea  of  matter  borne, 
They  rise,  they  break,  and  to  that  sea  return.        00 
Nothing  is  foreign  ;  parts  relate  to  whole; 
One  all-extending,  all-preserving  soul 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  249 

Connects  each  being,  greatest  with  the  least ; 
Made  beast  in  aid  of  man,  and  man  of  beast ; 
All  served,  all  serving :  nothing  stands  alone ; 
The  chain  holds  on,  and  where  it  ends,  unknown. 

Has  God,  riiou  fool !  work'd  solely  for  thy  good, 
Thy  joy,  thy  pastime,  thy  attire,  thy  food? 
Who  for  thy  table  feeds  the  wanton  fawn 
For  him  has  kindly  spread  the  flowery  lawn  :        30 
Is  it  for  thee  the  lark  ascends  and  sings'] 
Joy  tunes  his  voice,  joy  elevates  his  wings. 
Is  it  for  thee  the  linnet  pours  his  throat  1 
Loves  of  his  own,  and  raptures,  swell  the  note 
The  bounding  steed  you  pompously  bestride, 
Shares  with  his  lord  the  pleasure  and  the  pride. 
Is  thine  alone  the  seed  that  strews  the  plain  1 
The  birds  of  heaven  shall  vindicate  their  grain. 
Thine  the  full  harvest  of  the  golden  year '? 
Part  pays,  and  justly,  the  deserving  steer  :  40 

The  hog,  that  ploughs  not,  nor  obeys  thy  call, 
Lives  on  the  labours  of  this  lord  of  all. 

Know,  Nature's  children  all  divide  her  care ; 
The  fur  that  warms  a  monarch,  warm'd  a  bear. 
While  man  exclaims, '  See  all  things  for  my  use  I' 
'  See  man  for  mine!"  replies  a  pamper' d  goose : 
And  just  as  short  of  reason  he  must  fall, 
Who  thinks  all  made  for  one,  not  one  for  all. 

Grant  that  the  powerful  still  the  weak  control : 
Be  man  the  wit  and  tyrant  of  the  whole  :  50 

Nature  that  tyrant  checks :  he  only  knows, 
And  helps  another  creature's  wants  and  woes. 
Say,  will  the  falcon,  stooping  from  above 
Smit  with  her  varying  plumage,  spare  the  dove  1 
Admires  the  jay  the  insect's  gilded  wings'] 
Or  hears  the  hawk  when  Philomela  sings  1 
Man  cares  for  all :  to  birds  he  gives  his  woods, 
To  beasts  his  pastures,  and  to  fish  his  floods  : 
For  some  his  interest  prompts  him  to  provide, 
For  more  his  pleasure,  yet  for  more  his  pride  •      60 


*60  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  feed  on  one  vain  patron,  and  enjoy 

The  extensive  blessing  of  his  luxury. 

That  very  life  his  learned  hunger  craves, 

He  saves  from  famine,  from  the  savage  saves; 

Nay,  feasts  the  animal  he  dooms  his  feast, 

And,  till  he  ends  the  being,  makes  it  bless'd  : 

Which  sees  no  more  the  stroke,  or  feels  the  pain, 

Than  favour' d  man  by  touch  ethereal  slain. 

The  creature  had  his  feast  of  life  before ; 

Thou  too  must  perish,  when  thy  feast  is  o'er !        70 

To  each  unthinking  being,  Heaven  a  friend, 

Gives  not  the  useless  knowledge  of  its  end  : 

To  man  imparts  it;  but  with  such  a  view, 

As,  while  he  dreads  it,  makes  him  hope  it  too  : 

The  hour  conceal'd,  and  so  remote  the  fear, 

Death  still  draws  nearer,  never  seeming  near. 

Great  standing  miracle  !  that  Heaven  assign'd 

Its  only  thinking  thing  this  turn  of  mind. 

II.  Whether  with  reason  or  with  instinct  bless'd, 
Know,  all  enjoy  that  power  which  suits  them  best ;  80 
To  bliss  alike  by  that  direction  tend, 
And  find  the  means  proportion'd  to  their  end. 
Say,  where  full  instinct  is  the  unerring  guide, 
What  pope  or  council  can  they  need  beside  1 
Reason,  however  able,  cool  at  best, 
Cares  not  for  service,  or  but  serves  when  press'd, 
Stays  till  we  call,  and  then  not  often  near  ; 
But  honest  instinct  comes  a  volunteer, 
Sure  never  to  o'ershoot,  but  just  to  hit ; 
While  still  too  wide  or  short  is  human  wit ;  90 

Sure  by  quick  nature  happiness  to  gain, 
Which  heavier  reason  labours  at  in  vain. 
This  too  serves  always,  reason  never  long  : 
One  must  go  right,  the  other  may  go  wrong. 
See  then  the  acting  and  cqmparing  powers, 
One  in  their  nature,  which  are  two  in  ours  ! 
And  reason  raise  o'er  instinct  as  you  can, 
In  this  'tis  God  directs,  in  that  'tis  man. 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  261 

Who  taught  the  nations  of  the  field  and  wood 
To  shun  their  poison,  and  to  choose  their  food  ?  100 
Prescient,  the  tides  or  tempest  to  withstand, 
Build  on  the  wave,  or  arch  beneath  the  sand  1 
Who  made  the  spider  parallels  design, 
Sure  as  De  Moivre,  without  rule  or  line  7 
Who  bid  the  stork,  Columbus- like,  explore 
Heavens  not  his  own,  and  worlds  unknown  before ; 
Who  culls  the  council,  states  the  certain  day ; 
Who  forms  the  phalanx,  and  who  points  the  way  ? 

III.  God,  in  the  nature  of  each  being,  founds 
Its  proper  bliss,  and  sets  its  proper  bounds  :         110 
But  as  he  fram'd  a  whole  the  whole  to  bless, 
On  mutual  wants  built  mutual  happiness; 
So  from  the  first  eternal  order  ran, 
And  creature  link'd  to  creature,  man  to  man. 
Whate'er  of  life  all-quickening  ether  keeps, 
Or  breathes  through  air,  or  shoots  beneath  the  deepa. 
Or  pours  profuse  on  earth,  one  nature  feeds 
The  vital  flame,  and  swells  the  genial  seeds. 
Not  man  alone,  but  all  that  roam  the  wood, 
Or  wing  the  sky,  or  roll  along  the  flood,  120 

Each  loves  itself,  but  not  itself  alone, 
Each  sex  desires  alike,  till  two  are  one. 
Nor  ends  the  pleasure  with  the  fierce  embrace ; 
They  love  themselves,  a  third  time,  in  their  race. 
Thus  beast  and  bird  their  common  charge  attend, 
The  mothers  nurse  it,  and  the  sires  defend  : 
The  young  dismiss'd  to  wander  earth  or  air, 
There  stops  the  instinct,  and  there  ends  the  care ; 
The  link  dissolves,  each  seeks  a  fresh  emb  race, 
Another  love  succeeds,  another  race.  130 

A.  longer  care  man's  helpless  kind  demands ; 
That  longer  care  contracts  more  lasting  bands; 
Reflection,  reason,  still  the  ties  improve, 
At  once  extend  the  interest,  and  the  love  : 
With  choice  we  fix,  with  sympathy  we  burn  ,• 
Each  virtue  in  each  passion  takes  its  turn ; 


262          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  still  new  deeds,  new  helps,  new  habits  rise, 

That  graft  benevolence  on  charities. 

Still  as  one  brood,  and  as  another  rose, 

These  natural  love  maintain' d,  habitual  those:    140 

The  last,  scarce  riperi'dinto  perfect  man, 

Saw  helpless  him  from  whom  their  life  began  : 

Memory  and  forecast  just  returns  engage  ; 

That  pointed  back  to  youth,  this  on  to  age ; 

While  pleasure,  gratitude,  and  hope  combined, 

Still  spread  the  interest,  and  preserve  the  kind. 

IV.  Nor  think,  in  nature's  state  they  blindly  trod; 
The  state  of  nature  was  the  reign  of  God  ; 
Self-love  and  social  at  her  birth  began, 
Union  the  bond  of  all  things,  and  of  man.  150 

Pride  then  was  not ;  nor  arts,  that  pride  to  aid  ; 
Man  walk'd  with  beast,  joint  tenant  of  the  shade : 
The  same  his  table,  and  the  same  his  bed  ; 
No  murder  clothed  him,  and  no  murder  fed. 
In  the  same  temple,  the  resounding  wood, 
All  vocal  beings  hymn'd  their  equal  God  : 
The  shrine  with  gore  unstain'd,  with  gold  undress' d, 
Unbribed,  unbloody,  stood  the  blameless  priest  : 
Heaven's  attribute  was  universal  care, 
And  man's  prerogative,  to  rule,  but  spare.  160 

Ah  !  how  unlike  ihe  man  of  times  to  come  ! 
Of  half  that  live  the  butcher  and  the  tomb  ; 
Who,  foe  to  nature,  hears  the  general  groan, 
Murders  their  species,  and  betrays  his  own. 
But  just  disease  to  luxury  succeeds, 
And  every  death  its  own  avenger  breeds  : 
The  fury-passions  from  that  blood  began, 
And  turn'd  on  man  a  fiercer  savage,  man. 

See  him  from  nature  rising  slow  to  art : 
To  copy  instinct  then  was  reason's  part.  170 

Thus  then  to  man  the  voice  of  nature  spake — 
1  Go,  from  the  creatures  thy  instructions  take  : 
Learn  from  the  birds  what  food  the  thickets  yield  ; 
Learn  from  the  beasts  the  physic  of  the  field  ; 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  253 

Thy  arts  of  building  from  the  bee  receive; 

Learn  of  the  mole  to  plough,  the  worm  to  weave; 

Learn  of  the  little  Nautilus  to  sail, 

Spread  the  thin  oar,  and  catch  the  driving  gale. 

Here  too  all  forms  of  social  union  find, 

And  hence  let  reason,  late,  instruct  mankind :      180 

Here  subterranean  works  and  cities  see; 

There  towns  aerial  on  the  waving  tree. 

Learn  each  small  people's  genius,  policies, 

The  ant's  republic,  and  the  realm  of  bees  ; 

How  those  in  common  all  their  wealth  bestow, 

And  anarchy  without  confusion  know ; 

And  these  for  ever,  though  a  monarch  reign, 

Their  separate  cells  and  properties  maintain. 

Mark  what  unvaried  laws  preserve  each  state, 

Laws  wise  as  nature,  and  as  fix'd  as  fate.  190 

In  vain  thy  reason  finer  webs  shall  draw, 

Entangle  justice  in  her  net  of  law, 

And  right,  too  rigid,  harden  into  wrong; 

Still  for  the  strong  too  weak,  the  weak  too  strong. 

Yet  go!  and  thus  o'er  all  the  creatures  sway, 

Thus  let  the  wiser  make  the  rest  obey  : 

And  for  those  arts  mere  instinct  could  afford, 

Be  crown'd  as  monarchs,  or  as  gods  adored.' 

V.  Great  nature  spoke :  observant  man  obey"d ; 
Cities  were  built,  societies  were  made :  200 

Here  rose  one  little  state ;  another  near 
Grew  by  like  means,  and  join'd  through  love  or  fear. 
Did  here  the  trees  with  ruddier  burdens  bend, 
And  there  the  streams  in  purer  rills  descend  7 
What  war  could  ravish,  commerce  could  bestow  i 
And  he  return'd  a  friend,  who  came  a  foe. 
Converse  and  love  mankind  might  justly  draw, 
When  love  was  liberty,  and  nature  law. 
Thus  states  were  form'd;  thenameofkingunknown, 
Till  common  interest  placed  the  sway  in  one.      210 
'Twas  virtue  only  (or  in  arts  or  arms> 
Diffusing  blessings,  or  averting  harms,) 


864  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  same  which  in  a  sire  the  sons  obey'd, 

A  prince  the  father  of  a  people  made.  [sate 

VI.  Till  then,  by  nature  crown'd  each  patriarch 
King,  priest,  and  parent,  of  his  growing  state  : 
On  him,  their  second  Providence,  they  hung, 
Their  law  his  eye,  their  oracle  his  tongue. 
Ke  from  the  wandering  furrow  call'd  the  food, 
Taught  to  command  the  fire,  control  the  flood,    2?0 
Draw  forth  the  monsters  of  the  abyss  profound, 
Or  fetch  the  aerial  eagle  to  the  ground. 
Till  drooping,  sickening,  dying,  they  began 
Whom  they  revered  as  god  to  mourn  as  man  : 
Then  looking  up  from  sire  to  sire,  explored 
One  great  First  Father,  and  that  first  adored. 
On  plain  tradition,  that  this  all  begun, 
Convey'd  unbroken  faith  from  sire  to  son. 
The  worker  from  the  work  distinct  was  known, 
And  simple  reason  never  sought  but  one  :  230 

Ere  wit  oblique  had  broke  that  steady  light, 
Man,  like  his  Maker,  saw  that  all  was  right : 
To  virtue,  in  the  paths  of  pleasure  trod, 
And  own'd  a  father  when  he  own'd  a  God. 
Love  all  the  faith,  and  all  the  allegiance  then 
For  nature  knew  no  right  divine  in  men  • 
No  ill  could  fear  in  God,  and  understood 
A  sovereign  being,  but  a  sovereign  good. 
True  faith,  true  policy,  united  ran  ; 
That  was  but  love  of  God,  and  this  of  man.        240 

Who  first  taught  souls  enslaved,  and  realms  un- 
The  enormous  faith  of  many  made  for  one;    [done, 
That  proud  exception  to  all  nature's  laws, 
To  invert  the  world,  and  counterwork  its  cause. 
Force  first  made  conquest,  and  that  conquest,  law; 
Till  superstition  taught  the  tyrant  awe. 
Then  Glared  the  tyranny,  then  lent  it  aid, 
And  gods  of  conquerors,  slaves  of  subjects  made  : 
She  midst  the  lightning's  blaze,  and  thunder's  sound, 
When  rock'd  the  mountains,  and  when  groan'd  the 
ground,  250 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  255 

She  taught  the  weak  to  bend,  the  proud  to  pray, 
To  power  unseen,  and  mightier  far  than  they : 
She,  from  the  rending  earth,  and  bursting  sides, 
Saw  gods  descend,  and  fiends  infernal  rise  : 
Here  fix'd  the  dreadful,  there  the  blest  abodes, 
Fear  made  her  devils,  -and  weak  hope  her  gods  ; 
Gods  partial,  changeful,  passionate,  unjust, 
Whose  attributes  were  rage,  revenge,  or  lust ; 
Such  as  the  souls  of  cowards  might  conceive, 
And,  form'd  like  tyrants,  tyrants  would  believe.  260 
Zeal,  then,  not  charity,  became  the  guide  ; 
And  hell  was  built  on  spite,  and  heaven  on  pride. 
Then  sacred  seem'd  the  ethereal  vault  no  more; 
Altars  grew  marble  then,  and  reek'd  with  gore 
Then  first  the  flamen  tasted  living  food, 
Next  his  grim  idol  smear'd  with  human  blood  ; 
With  Heaven's  own  thunders  shook  the  world  below, 
And  play'd  the  god  an  engine  on  his  foe. 

So  drives  self-love,through  just  and  through  unjust. 
To  one  man's  power,  ambition,  lucre,  lust;          270 
The  same  self-love  in  all  becomes  the  cause 
Of  what  restrains  him,  government  and  laws. 
For  what  one  likes,  if  others  like  as  well, 
What  serves  one  will,  when  many  wills  rebel? 
How  shall  he  keep  what,  sleeping  or  awake. 
A  weaker  may  surprise,  a  stronger  take1] 
His  safety  must  his  liberty  restrain  : 
All  join  to  guard  what  each  desires  to  gain. 
Forced  into  virtue  thus,  by  self-defence, 
E'en  kings  learn'd  justice  and  benevolence:         280 
Self-love  forsook  the  paih  it  first  pursued, 
And  found  the  private  in  the  public  good. 

'Twas  then  the  studious  head  or  generous  mind, 
Follower  of  God,  or  friend  of  human-kind, 
Poet  or  patriot,  rose  but  to  restore 
The  faith  and  moral  nature  gave  before  ; 
Resumed  her  ancient  light,  not  kindled  new; 
If  notjjtod's  image,  yet  his  shadow  drew  ; 


256          POPE'S  POETICAL  VvUiiXo. 

Taught  power's  due  use  to  people  and  to  kingi, 

Taught  nor  to  slack,  nor  strain  its  tender  strings,  290 

The  less  or  greater  set  so  justly  true, 

That  touching  one  must  strike  the  other  too, 

Till  jarring  interests  of  themselves  create 

The  according  music  of  a  well-mix'd  state. 

Such  is  the  world's  great  harmony,  that  springs 

From  order,  union,  full  consent  of  things  : 

Where  small  and  great,  where  weak  and  mighty,  made 

To  serve,  not  suffer,  strengthen,  not  invade ; 

More  powerful  each  as  needful  to  the  rest, 

And,  in  proportion  as  it  blesses,  bless'd  :  300 

Draw  to  one  point,  and  to  one  centre  bring 

Beast,  man,  or  angel,  servant,  lord,  or  king. 

For  forms  of  government  let  fools  contest ; 
Whate'er  is  best  administer'd  is  best : 

For  modes  of  faith  let  graceless  zealots  fight, 

His  can't  be  wrong  whose  life  is  in  the  right ; 

In  faith  and  hope  the  world  will  disagree, 

But  all  mankind's  concern  is  charity ; 

All  must  be  false,  that  thwarts  this  one  great  end  ; 

And  all  of  God,  that  bless  mankind,  or  mend.        310 
Man,  like  the  generous  vine,  supported  lives  ; 

The  strength  he  gains  is  from  the  embrace  he  gives 

On  their  own  axis  as  the  planets  run, 

Yet  make  at  once  their  circle  round  the  sun ; 

So  two  consistent  motions  act  the  soul ; 

And  one  regards  itself,  and  one  the  whole. 
Thus  God  and  Nature  link'd  the  general  frame, 

And  bade  self-love  and  social  be  the  same. 


ARGUMENT  OF  EPISTLE  IV. 

Of  the  Nature  and  State  of  Man  with  respect  to 
Happiness. 

I.  False  notions  of  happiness,  philosophical  and  pojiu 
lar,  answered,  from  ver.  li)  to  77.     II.  It  ia  the  enu 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  257 

of  all  men,  and  attainable  by  all,  ver.  30.  God  in 
lends  happiness  to  be  equal ;  and,  to  be  so,  it  must  bo 
social,  since  all  particular  happiness  depends  on  gene 
ral,  and  since  he  governs  by  general,  not  particular 
laws,  ver.  37.  As  it  is  necessary  for  order,  and  the 
peace  and  welfare  of  society,  that  external  goods 
should  be  unequal,  happiness  is  not  made  to  consist 
in  those,  ver.  51.  But,  notwithstanding  that  inequali- 
y,  the  balance  of  happiness  among  mankind  is  kept 
even  by  Providence,  by  the  two  passions  of  hope  and 
fear,  ver.  70.  III.  What  the  happiness  of  individuals 
is,  as  far  as  is  consistent  with  the  constitution  of  this 
world;  and  that  the  good  man  has  here  the  advan 
tage,  ver.  77.  The  error  of  imputing  to  virtue  what 
are  only  the  calamities  ol  nature,  or  of  fortune,  ver.  94. 

IV.  The  folly  of  expecting  that  God  should  alter  his 
general    laws    in    favour    of    particulars,    ver.    121. 

V.  That  we  are  not  judges  who  are  good;  but  that, 
whoever  they  are,  they  mus-t  be  happiest,  ver.  133,  &c. 

VI.  That  external  goods  are  not  the  proper  rewards, 
but  often  inconsistent  with,  or  destructive  of,  virtue, 
ver.  107.    That  even  these  can  make  no  man  happy 
without  virtue;   instanced   in   riches,  ver.  Ic5.     Ho 
nours,  ver.  193     Nobility,  ver.  205.    Greatness,  ver. 
217.     Fame,  ver.  237.    Superior  talents,  ver.  257,  &c 
With  pictures  of  human  infelicity  in  men  possessed 
of  them  all,  ver.  2f>9,  &c.    VII.  That  virtue  only  con 
stitutes  a  happiness,  whose  object  is  universal,  and 
whose  prospect  eternal,  ver.  307.    That  the  perfection 
of  virtue  and  happiness  consists  in  a  conformity  to 
the  order  of  Providence  here,  and  a  resignation  to  It 
here  and  hereafter,  ver.  320,  &c. 

EPISTLE  IV. 

OH  Happiness  !  our  being's  end  and  aim  ! 
Good,  pleasure,  ease,  content !  whate'er  thy  name : 
That  something  still  which  prompts  the  eternal  sigh 
For  which  we  bear  to  live,  or  dare  to  die  • 
Which  still  so  near  us,  yet  beyond  us  lies, 
O'erlook'd,  seen  double,  by  the  fool  and  wise, 
Plant  of  celestial  seed  !  if  dropp'd  below 
Say,  in  what  mortal  soil  thou  deign'st  to  grow 
17 


258  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Fair  opening  to  some  court's  propitious  shine, 

Or  deep  with  diamonds  in  the  flaming  mine  ?         10 

Twined  with  the  wreaths  Parnassian  laurels  yield, 

Or  reap'd  in  iron  harvests  of  the  field? 

Where  grows  1  where  grows  it  not "]  If  vain  our  toil 

We  ought  to  blame  the  culture,  not  the  soil : 

Fix'd  to  no  spot  is  happiness  sincere, 

•Tis  no  where  to  be  found,  or  every  where  ; 

'Tis  never  to  be  bought,  but  always  free, 

And  fled  from  rnonarchs,  St.  John  !  dwells  with  thee. 

I.  Ask  of  thelearn'd  the  way'?  Thelearn'd  areblind. 
This  bids  to  serve,  and  that  to  shun  mankind  ;      20 
Someplace  the  bliss  in  action,  some  in  ease, 
Those  call  it  pleasure,  and  contentment  these. 
Some,  sunk  to  beasts,  find  pleasure  end  in  pain  : 
Some,  swell'd  to  gods,  confess  e'en  virtue  vain  : 
Or,  indolent,  to  each  extreme  they  fall. 

To  trust  in  every  thing,  or  doubi  of  all. 

Who  thus  define  it,  say  they  nurs  or  less 
Than  this,  that  happiness  is  happiness? 

II.  Take  nature's  path,  and  mad  opinions  leave  j 
All  states  can  roach  it,  and  all  heucis  conceive  :      30 
Obvious  her  goods,  in  no  extreme  thsj'  dwell; 
There  needs  but  thinking  right,  and  oieijnirisc  *"*!! ; 
And,  mourn  our  various  portions  as  wt  plea<>* 
Equal  is  common  sense,  and  common  e&so. 

Remember,  man,  '  the  Universal  Cause 
Acts  not  by  partial,  but  by  general  laws  ;' 
And  makes  what  happiness  we  justly  call, 
Subsist  not  in  the  good  of  one,  but  all. 
There's  not  a  blessing  individuals  find, 
But  some  way  leans  and  hearkens  to  the  kind        4-1 
No  bandit  fierce,  no  tyrant  mad  with  pride, 
No  cavern'd  hermit,  rests  self-satisfied: 
Who  most  to  shun  or  hate  mankind  pretend, 
Seek  an  admirer,  or  would  fix  a  friend  : 
Abstract  what  others  feel,  what  others  think 
All  pleasures  sicken,  and  all  glories  sink  : 


ESSAY  ON  MAN  269 

Each  has  his  share  ;  and  who  would  more  obtain, 
Shall  find  the  pleasure  pays  not  half  the  pain. 

Order  is  Heaven's  first  law  ;  and  this  confess'd, 
Some  are,  and  must  be,  greater  than  the  rest,          50 
More  rich,  more  wise ;  but  who  infers  from  hence 
That  such  are  happier,  shocks  all  common  sense 
Heaven  to  marfdnd  impartial  we  confess, 
If  all  are  equal  in  their  happiness  : 
But  mutual  wants  this  happiness  increase  ; 
All  nature's  difference  keeps  all  nature's  peace 
Condition,  circumstance,  is  not  the  thing ; 
Bliss  is  the  same  in  subject  or  in  king, 
In  who  obtain  defence,  or  who  defend, 
In  him  who  is,  or  him  who  finds  a  friend  :  60 

Heaven  breathes  through  every  member  of  the  whole 
One  common  blessing,  as  one  common  soul. 
But  fortune's  gifts,  if  each  alike  possess'd, 
And  each  were  equal,  must  not  all  contest? 
If  then  to  all  men  happiness  was  meant, 
God  in  externals  could  not  place  content. 

Fortune  her  gifts  may  variously  dispose,       „ 
And  these  be  happy  call'd,  unhappy  those ; 
But  Heaven's  just  balance  equal  will  appear, 
While  those  are  placed  in  hope,  and  these  in  fear :    70 
Not  present  good  or  ill,  the  joy  or  curse, 
But  future  views  of  better  or  of  worse. 
O,  sons  of  earth !  attempt  ye  still  to  rise, 
By  mountains  piled  on  mountains,  to  the  skies? 
Heaven  still  with  laughter  the  vain  toil  surveys, 
And  buries  madmen  in  the  heaps  they  raise. 

III.  Know,  all  the  good  that  individual?  find, 
Or  God  and  nature  meant  to  mere  mankind, 
Reason's  whole  pleasure,  all  the  joys  of  sense, 
Lie  in  three  words,  health,  peace,  and  competence,  80 
But  health  consists  with  temperance  alone; 
And  peace,  O  virtue !  peace  is  all  thy  own. 
The  good  or  bad  the  gifts  of  fortune  gain ; 
But  these  less  taste  them,  as  they  worse  obtain. 


?60 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Say,  iq  pursuit  of  profit  or  delight, 
Who  risk  the  most,  that  take  wrong  means,  or  right  1 
Of  vice  or  virtue,  whether  bless'd  or  cursed, 
Which  meets  contempt,  or  which  compassion  first  1 
Count  all  the  advantage  prosperous  vice  attain?, 
'Tis  but  what  virtue  flies  from  and  disdains  :          90 
And  grant  the  bad  what  happiness  they  would, 
One  they  must  want,  which  is,  to  pass  for  good. 

Oh,  blind  to  truth,  and  God's  whole  scheme  below, 
WliD  fancy  bliss  to  vice,  to  virtue  wo  ! 
Who  sees  and  follows  that  great  scheme  the  best, 
Best  knows  the  blessing,  and  will  most  be  bless'd. 
But  fools  the  good  alone  unhappy  call, 
For  ills  or  accidents  that  chance  to  all. 
See  Falkland  dies,  the  virtuous  and  the  just ! 
See  godlike  Turenne  prostrate  on  the  dust !  100 

See  Sidney  bleeds  amid  the  martial  strife ! 
Was  this  their  virtue,  or  contempt  of  life  ! 
Say,  was  it  virtue,  more  though  Heaven  ne'er  gave. 
Lamented  Digby  '  sunk  thee  to  the  grave? 
Tell  me,  if  virtue  made  the  son  expire, 
Why,  full  of  days  and  honour,  lives  the  sire. 
Why  drew  Marseilles'  good  bishop  purer  breath, 
When  nature  sicken'd,  and  each  gale  was  death  ? 
Or  why  so  long  (in  life  if  long  can  be) 
Lent  Heaven  a  parent  to  the  poor  and  me  1          110 

What  makes  all  physical  or  moral  ill? 
There  deviates  nature,  and  here  wanders  will. 
God  sends  not  ill,  if  rightly  understood, 
Or  partial  ill  is  universal  good, 
Or  change  admits,  or  nature  lets  it  fall, 
Short,  and  but  rare,  till  man  improved  it  all. 
We  just  as  wisely  might  of  Heaven  complain, 
That  righteous  Abel  was  destroy'd  by  Cain, 
As  that  the  virtuous  son  is  ill  at  ease 
When  his  lewd  father  gave  the  dire  disease.         120 
Think  we,  like  some  weak  prince,  the  Eternal  Causa 
Prone  for  his  favourites  to  reverse  his  laws  ! 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  261 

IV.  Shall  burning  ^Etna,  if  a  sage  requires, 
Forget  to  thunder,  and  recall  her  fires  ! 

On  air  or  sea  new  motions  be  impress'd, 

Oh  blameless  Bethel !  to  relieve  thy  breast  ? 

When  th<:  loose  mountain  trembles  from  on  high, 

Shall  gravitation  cease  if  you  go  by  ? 

Or  some  old  temple,  nodding  to  its  fall, 

For  Chartres'  head  reserve  the  hanging  wall?        130 

V.  But  still  this  world  (so  fitted  for  the  knave) 
Contents  us  not.    A  better  shall  we  have  ? 

A  kingdom  of  the  just  then  let  it  be: 

But  first  consider  how  those  just  agree. 

The  good  must  merit  God's  peculiar  care ! 

But  who,  but  God,  can  tell  us  who  they  are  ? 

One  thinks  on  Calvin  Heaven's  own  spirit  fell ; 

Another  deems  him  instrument  of  hell : 

If  Calvin  feel  Heaven's  blessing,  or  its  rod, 

This  cries,  there  is,  and  that,  there  is  no  God.       140 

What  shocks  one  part  will  edify  the  rest, 

Nor  with  one  system  can  they  all  be  bless'd. 

The  very  best  will  variously  incline, 

And  what  rewards  your  virtue,  punisn  mine. 

WHATEVER  is,  is  RIGHT. — This  world,  'tis  true, 

Was  made  for  Ca?sar — but  for  Titus  too  ; 

And  which  more  bless'd  ?  who  chain'd  his  country 

say, 
Or  he  whose  virtue  sigh'd  to  lose  a  day  ? 

VI.  '  But  sometimes  virtue  starves  while  vice  is  fed.' 
What  then?    Is  the  reward  of  virtue  bread  ?        J50 
That,  vice  may  merit,  'tis  the  price  of  toil ; 

The  knave  deserves  it,  when  he  tills  the  soil ; 
The  knave  deserves  it  when  he  tempts  the  main; 
Where  folly  fights  for  kings,  or  dives  for  gain 
The  good  man  may  be  weak,  be  indolent ; 
Nor  is  his  claim  to  plenty,  but  content. 
But  grant  him  riches,  your  demand  is  o'er : 
No — shall  the  good  want  health,  the  good  wan 
power?' 


862  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  health  and  power  and  every  earthly  thing — 
'Why  bounded  power1?  why  private?  why  no  king!  160 
Nay,  why  external  for  internal  given  1 
Why  is  not  man  a  god,  and  earth  a  heaven  1' 
Who  ask  and  reason  thus,  will  scarce  conceive 
God  gives  enough,  while  he  has  more  to  give  ; 
Immense  the  power,  immense  were  the  demand  ; 
Say,  at  what  part  of  nature  will  they  stand '] 
What  nothing  earthly  gives  or  can  destroy, 
The  soul's  calm  sun-shine,  and  the  heart-felt  joy, 
Is  virtue's  prize  :  a  better  would  you  fix  ? 
Then  give  humility  a  coach  and  six,  170 

Justice  a  conqueror's  sword,  or  truth  a  gown, 
Or  public  spirit  its  great  cure — a  crown. 
Weak,  foolish  man  !  will  Heaven  reward  us  there, 
With  the  same  trash  mad  mortals  wish  for  here  ! 
The  boy  and  man  an  individual  makes, 
Yet  sigh'st  thou  now  for  apples  and  for  cakes? 
Go,  like  the  Indian,  in  another  life 
Expect  thy  dog,  thy  bottle,  and  thy  wife, 
As  well  as  dream  such  trifles  are  assign'd, 
As  toys  and  empires,  for  a  god-like  mind.  180 

Rewards,  that  either  would  to  virtue  bring 
No  joy,  or  be  destructive  of  the  thing  ; 
How  oft  by  these  at  sixty  are  undone 
The  virtues  of  a  saint  at  twenty-one ! 
To  whom  can  riches  give  repute  or  trust, 
Content  or  pleasure,  but  the  good  and  just? 
Judges  and  senates  have  been  bought  for  gold; 
Esteem  and  love  were  never  to  be  sold. 
Oh  fool !  to  think  God  hates  the  worthy  mind, 
The  lover  and  the  love  of  human-kind,  100 

Whose  life  is  healthful,  and  whose  conscience  cieai, 
Because  he  wants  a  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
Honour  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise; 
Act  well  your  part,  there  all  the  honour  lies. 
Fortune  in  men  has  some  small  difference  n?«».d 
One  flaunts  in  rags,  one  flutters  in  brocadti . 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  263 

The  cobbler  apron'd,  and  the  parson  gown'd, 
The  friar  hooded,  and  the  monarch  crown' d. 
1  What  differ  more,'  you  cry,  '  than  crown  and  cowl !' 
I'll  tell  you,  friend  !  a'wise  man  and  a  fool.          200 
You'll  find,  if  once  the  monarch  acts  the  monk, 
Or,  cobbler-like,  the  parson  will  be  drunk, 
Worth  makes  the  man,  and  want  of  it  the  fellow; 
The  rest  is  all  but  leather  or  prunella. 

Stuck  o'er  with  titles  and  hung  round  with  strings, 
That  thou  may'st  be  by  kings,  or  whores  of  kings, 
Boast  the  pure  blood  of  an  illustrious  race, 
In  quiet  flow  from  Lucrece  to  Lucrece  : 
But  by  your  fathers'  worth  if  yours  you  rate, 
Count  me  those  only  who  were  good  and  great.  210 
Go!  if  your  ancient,  but  ignoble  blood 
Has  crept  through  scoundrels  ever  since  the  flood, 
Go  !  and  pretend  your  family  is  young ; 
Nor  own  your  fathers  have  been  fools  so  long. 
What  can  ennoble  sots,  or  slaves,  or  cowards'? 
Alas!  not  all  the  blood  of  all  the  Howards. 

Look  next  on  greatness  :  say  where  greatness  lies 
'Where,  but  among  the  heroes  and  the  wise?' 
Heroes  are  much  the  same,  the  point's  agreed, 
From  Macedonia's  madman  to  the  Swede;          220 
The  whole  strange  purpose  of  their  lives,  to  find 
Or  make,  an  enemy  of  all  mankind! 
Not  one  looks  backward,  onward  still  he  goes 
Yet  ne'er  looks  forward  further  than  his  nose. 
No  less  alike  the  politic  and  wise  ; 
All  sly  slow  things  with  circumspective  eyes  ; 
Men  in  their  loose  unguarded  hours  they  take, 
Not  that  themselves  are  wise,  but  others  weak. 
But  grant  that  those  can  conquer,  these  can  cheat, 
'Tis  phrase  absurd  to  call  a  villain  great:  23C 

Who  wickedly  is  wise,  or  madly  brave, 
Is  but  the  more  a  fool,  the  more  a  knave 
Who  noble  ends  by  noble  means  obtains. 
Or  failing  smiles  in  exile  or  in  chains, 


284  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Like  good  Aurelius  let  him  reign,  or  bleed 
Like  Socrates,  that  man  is  great  indeed. 

What's  fame  1  a  fancied  life  in  others  breath, 
A  thing  beyond  us,  e'en  before  our  death. 
Just  what  you  hear  you  have  ;  and  what's  unknown, 
The  same  (my  lord)  if  Tully's,  or  your  own.          240 
All  that  we  feel  of  it  begins  and  ends 
In  the  small  circle  of  our  foes  or  friends  ; 
To  all  beside  as  much  an  empty  shade 
As  Eugene  living,  as  a  Caesar  dead  ; 
Alike  or  when  or  where  they  shone  or  shine, 
Or  on  the  Rubicon,  or  on  the  Rhine. 
A  wit's  a  feather,  and  a  chief  a  rod  ; 
An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God. 
Fame  but  from  death  a  villain's  name  can  save, 
As  justice  tears  his  body  from  the  grave  ;  250 

When  what  to  oblivion  better  were  resign'd, 
Is  hung  on  high  to  poison  half  mankind. 
All  fame  is  foreign  but  of  true  desert, 
Plays  round  the  head,  but  conies  not  to  the  heart 
One  self-approving  hour  whole  years  outweighs 
Of  stupid  starers,  and  of  loud  huzzas; 
And  more  true  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels 
Than  Cassar  with  a  senate  at  his  heels. 

In  parts  superior  what  advantage  lies'? 
Tell  (for  you  can)  what  is  it  to  be  wise  ?  260 

'Tis  but  to  know  how  little  can  be  known, 
To  see  all  others'  faults,  and  feel  our  own  ; 
Condemn'din  business  or  in  arts  to  drudge 
Without  a  second,  or  without  a  judge; 
Truths  would  you  teach,  or  save  a  sinking  land; 
All  fear,  none  aid  you,  and  few  understand. 
Painful  pre-eminence !  yourself  to  view 
Above  life's  weakness,  and  its  comforts  too. 

Bring  then  these  blessings  to  a  strict  account : 
Make  fair  deductions  ;  see  to  what  they  'mount :  270 
How  much  of  other  each  is  sure  to  cost ; 
How  each  for  other  oft  is  wholly  lost ; 


ESSAY  ON  MAN.  265 

flow  inconsistent  greater  goods  with  these 
Mow  sometimes  life  is  risk'd,  and  always  ease; 
Think,  and  if  still  the  things  thy  envy  call, 
Say,  wouldst  thou  be  the  man  to  whom  they  fall  ? 
To  sigh  for  ribands  if  thou  art  so  silly, 
Mark  how  they  grace  Lord  Umbra,  or  Sir  Billy. 
Is  yellow  dirt  the  passion  of  thy  life  1 
Look  but  on  Gripus,  or  on  Gripus'  wife.  230 

Tf  parts  allure  thee,  think  how  Bacon  f<hined, 
The  wisest,  brightest,  meanest  of  mankind  ; 
Or  ravish'd  with  the  whistling  of  a  name, 
See  Cromwell  damn'd  to  everlasting  fame  ! 
If  all  united,  thy  ambition  call, 
From  ancient  story  learn  to  scorn  them  all. 
There,  in  the  rich,  the  honour'd,  famed,  and  great, 
See  the  false  scale  of  happiness  complete! 
In  hearts  of  kings,  or  arms  of  queens  who  lay, 
How  happy  !  those  to  ruin,  these  betray.  290 

Mark  by  what  wretched  steps  their  glory  grows  ; 
From  dirt  and  sea-weed  as  proud  Venice  rose  ; 
In  each  how  guilt  and  greatness  equal  ran, 
And  all  that  raised  the  hero  sunk  the  man  : 
Now  Europe's  laurels  on  their  brows  behold, 
But  stain'd  with  blood,  or  ill  exchanged  for  gold  : 
Then  see  them  broke  with  toils,  or  sunk  in  ease, 
Or  infamous  for  plunder'd  provinces. 
O  wealth  ill-fated !  which  no  act  of  fame 
E'er  taught  to  shine,  or  sanctified  from  shame!   300 
What  greater  bliss  attends  their  close  of  life  7 
Some  greedy  minion,  or  imperious  wife, 
The  trophied  arches,  storied  halls  invade, 
And  haunt  their  slumbers  in  the  pompous  shade. 
Alas!  not  dazzled  with  their  noon-tide  ray, 
Compute  the  morn  and  evening  to  the  day ; 
The  whole  amount  of  that  enormous  fame, 
A  tale  that  blends  their  glory  with  their  shame! 
Know  then  this  truth,  (enough  for  man  to  know,) 
Virtue  alone  is  happiness  below.'  31(1 


266  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  only  point  where  human  bliss  stands  still 

And  tastes  the  good  without  the  fall  to  ill ; 

Where  only  merit,  constant  pay  receives, 

Is  bless'd  in  what  it  takes,  and  what  it  gives  ; 

The  joy  unequall'd,  if  its  end  it  gain, 

And  if  it  lose,  attended  with  no  pain  : 

Without  satiety,  though  e'er  so  bless'd, 

And  but  more  relish'd  as  the  more  distress'd  : 

The  broadest  mirth  unfeeling  folly  wears, 

Less  pleasing  far  than  virtue's  very  tears  :  320 

Good,  from  each  object,  from  each  place  acquired, 

For  ever  exercised,  yet  never  tired ; 

Never  elated,  while  one  man's  oppress'd  • 

Never  dejected,  while  another's  bless'd  : 

And  where  no  wants,  no  wishes  can  remain, 

Since  but  to  wish  more  virtue,  is  to  gain. 

See  the  sole  bliss  Heaven  could  on  all  bestow ! 
IVhich  who  but  feels  can  taste,  but  thinks  can  know 
Vet  poor  with  fortune  and  with  learning  blind, 
The  bad  must  miss,  the  good  untaught  will  find  ; 
Slave  to  no  sect,  who  takes  no  private  road,       330 
5ut  looks  through  nature  up  to  nature's  God  ; 
pursues  that  chain  which  links  th'  immense  design 
loins  Heav'n  and  earth,  and  mortal  and  divine 
Sees  that  no  being  any  bliss  can  know, 
But  touches  some  above,  and  some  below ; 
Yearns  from  the  union  of  the  rising  whole 
The  first,  last  purpose  of  the  human  soul ; 
\nd  knows  where  faith,  law,  morals,  all  began, 
4.11  end  in  love  of  God  and  love  of  man.  341 

For  him  alone  hope  leads  from  goal  to  goal, 
Ind  opens  still,  and  opens  on  his  soul ; 
Till  lengthen'd  on  to  faith,  and  unconfined, 
It  pours  the  bliss  that  fills  up  all  the  mind. 
He  sees  why  nature  plants  in  man  alone, 
Hope  of  known  bliss,  and  faith  in  bliss  unknown  i 
{Nature,  whose  dictates  to  no  other  kind 
Are  given  in  vain,  but  what  they  seek  they  find) 


ESSAY  ON  MAN. 


267 


Wise  is  her  present ;  she  connects  in  this 
His  greatest  virtue  with  his  greatest  bliss ; 
At  once  his  own  bright  prospect  to  be  ble-ss'd ; 
And  strongest  motive  to  assist  the  rest. 

Self  love  thus  push'd  to  social,  to  divine, 
Gives  thee  to  make  thy  neighbour's  blessing  thine. 
Is  this  too  little  for  the  boundless  heart? 
Extend  it,  let  thy  enemies  have  part  ; 
Grasp  the  whole  world  of  reason,  life,  and  sense, 
In  one  close  system  of  benevolence  ; 
Happier  as  kinder,  in  whate'er  degree, 
And  height  of  bliss  but  height  of  charity.  360 

God  loves  from  whole  to  parts  :  but  human  soul 
Must  rise  from  individual  to  the  whole. 
Self-love  but  serves  the  virtuous  mind  to  wake, 
As  the  small  pebble  stirs  the  peaceful  lake ; 
The  centre  moved,  a  circle  straight  succeeds, 
Another  still,  and  still  another  spreads ; 
Friend,  parent,  neighbour,  first  it  will  embrace; 
His  country  next,  and  next  all  human  race: 
Wide  and  more  wide,  the  o'erflowings  of  the  mind 
Take  every  creaturo  in,  of  every  kind :  370 

Earth  smiles  around,  with  boundless  bounty  bless'd, 
And  Heaven  beholds  its  image  in  his  breast. 

Come  then,  my  friend!  my  genius!  come  along; 
O  master  of  the  poet,  and  the  song ! 
And  while  the  muse  now  stoops,  or  now  ascends, 
To  man's  low  passions,  or  their  glorious  ends, 
Teach  me,  like  thee,  in  various  nature  wise, 
To  fall  with  dignity,  with  temper  rise; 
Form'd  by  thy  converse,  happily  to  steer 
From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe ;  390 

Correct  with  spirit,  eloquent  with  ease, 
Intent  to  reason,  or  polite  to  please. 
O !  while  along  the  stream  of  time  thy  name 
Expanded  flies,  and  gathers  all  its  fame, 
Say,  shall  my  little  bark  attendant  sail, 
Pursue  the  triumph,  and  partake  the  gale"? 


868 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


When  statesmen,  heroes,  kings,  in  dust  repose, 
Whose  sons  shall  blush  their  fathers  were  thy  foea, 
Shall  then  this  verse  to  future  age  pretend 
Thou  wert  my  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  1     390 
That,  urged  by  thee,  I  turn'd  the  tuneful  art 
From  sound  to  things,  from  fancy  to  the  heart ; 
For  wit's  false  mirror  held  up  nature's  light, 
Show'd  erring  pride,  WHATEVER  is,  is  EIGHT  ; 
That  reason,  passion,  answer  one  great  aim  ; 
That  true  self-love  and  social  are  the  same  ; 
That  virtue  only  makes  our  bliss  below ; 
And  all  our  knowledge,  is  ourselves  to  know. 


THE  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER, 

DEO  OPT.  MAX. 


It  may  be  proper  to  observe,  that  some  passages  in  the  pre. 
ceding  Essay  having  been  unjustly  suspected  of  a  tendency 
towards  fate  and  naturalism,  the  author  composed  this  pray 
er  as  the  sum  of  all,  to  show  that  his  system  was  founded  in 
free-will,  and  terminated  in  piety  :  that  the  First  Cause  was 
as  well  the  Lord  and  Governor  of  the  universe  as  the  Crea 
tor  of  it ;  and  that,  by  submission  to  his  will  (the  great 
principle  enforced  throughout  the  Essay)  was  not  meant  the 
suffering  ourselves  to  be  carried  along  by  a  blind  determin 
ation,  but  a  resting  in  a  religious  acquiescence,  and  confi 
dence  full  of  hope  and  immortality.  To  give  all  this  the 
greater  weight,  the  poet  chose  for  his  model  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  which,  of  all  others,  best  deserves  the  title  prefixed 
to  this  paraphrase. 

FATHER  of  all !  in  every  age, 

In  every  clime  adored, 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 

Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord ! 


THE  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER. 


258 


Thou  Great  First  Cause,  least  understood  , 

Who  all  my  sense  confined 
To  know  but  this,  That  thou  art  good, 

And  that  myself  am  blind ; 
Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate, 

To  see  the  good  from  ill ; 
And,  binding  Nature  fast  in  Fate, 

Left  free  the  human  will : 

What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do, 
This,  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun, 

That,  more  than  heaven  pursue. 
What  blessings  thy  free  bounty  gives, 

Let  me  not  cast  away  ; 
For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives': 

To  enjoy  is  to  obey. 
Yet  not  to  earth's  contracted  span 

Thy  goodness  let  me  bound, 
Or  think  thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 

When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 
Let  not  this  weak,  unknowing  hand 

Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw, 
And  deal  damnation  round  the  land, 

On  each  I  judge  thy  foe. 
If  I  am  right,  thy  grace  impart, 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay  : 
If  I  am  wrong,  O  teach  my  heart 

To  find  that  better  way. 
Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride, 

Or  impious  discontent, 
At  aught  thy  wisdom  has  denier*, 

Or  aught  thy  goodness  lent. 
Teach  me  to  feel  another's  wo, 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see : 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show 

That  mercy  show  to  me 


ro  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Mean  though  I  am,  not  wholly  so 
Since  quicken'd  by  thy  breath  ;  ' 
O  lead  me,  wheresoe'er  I  go, 

Through  this  day's  life  or  death. 
This  day,  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot  : 

All  else  beneath  the  sun, 
Thou  know'st  if  best  bestow'd  or  not 

And  let  thy  will  be  done. 

To  thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space, 

Whose  altar,  earth,  sea,  skies ! 
One  chorus  let  all  beings  raise  ! 

All  Nature's  incense  rise ! 

MORAL  ESSAYS, 

IN  FOUR  EPISTLES  TO  SEVERAL  PERSONS. 

Est  brevitate  opus,  ut  currat  sententia,  neu 
Impediat  verbis  lassas  onerantibus  aures : 
Et  sermone  opus  est  modo  tristi,  ssepe  jocoso, 
Defendente  vicera  modo  rhetoris  atque  poetae, 
Interdum  urbani,  parcentis  viribus,  atque 
Extenuantis  eas  consulto.  HOB. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

THE  Essay  on  Man  was  intended  to  have  been 
comprised  in  four  books  : 

The  first  of  which  the  author  has  given  us  under 
that  title,  in  four  epistles. 

The  second  was  to  have  consisted  of  the  same 
number :  l.  Of  the  extent  and  limits  of  human  rea 
son.  2.  Of  those  arts  and  sciences,  and  of  the  parta 
of  them,  which  are  useful,  and  therefore  attainable, 
together  with  those  which  are  unuseful,  and  there- 
fore  unattainable.  3.  Of  the  nature,  ends,  use,  and 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  271 

Application  of  the  different  capacities  of  men.  4.  Of 
the  use  of  learning,  of  the  science  of  the  world,  and 
of  wit;  concluding  with  a  satire  against  a  misappli 
cation  of  them,  illustrated  by  pictures,  characters, 
and  examples. 

The  third  book  regarded  civit  regimen,  or  the 
science  of  politics,  in  which  the  several  forms  of  a 
republic  were  to  be  examined  and  explained;  toge 
ther  with  the  several  modes  of  religious  worship, 
as  far  forth  as  they  affect  society :  between  which 
the  author  always  supposed  there  was  the  most  in 
teresting  relation  and  closest  connexion  :  so  that  thia 
part  would  have  treated  of  civil  and  religious  society 
in  their  full  extent. 

The  fourth  and  last  book  concerned  private  ethics, 
or  practical  morality,  considered  in  all  the  circum 
stances,  orders,  professions,  and  stations  of  human 
life. 

The  scheme  of  all  this  had  been  maturely  digested, 
and  communicated  to  Lord  Bolingbroke,  Dr.  Swift, 
and  one  or  two  more,  and  was  intended  for  the  only 
work  of  his  riper  years  ;  but  was  partly  through  ill- 
health,  partly  through  discouragements  from  the  de- 
prav-ity  of  the  times,  and  partly  on  prudential  and 
other  considerations,  interrupted,  postponed,  and, 
lastly,  in  a  manner  laid  aside. 

But  as  this  was  the  author's  favourite  work, 
which  more  exactly  reflected  the  image  of  his  strong 
capacious  mind,  and  as  we  can  have  but  a  very  im 
perfect  idea  of  it  from  the  disjecta  membra  poetce  that 
now  remain,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  be  a  little  more 
particular  concerning  each  of  these  projected  books. 

The  first,  as  it  treats  of  man  in  the  abstract,  and 
considers  him  in  general  under  every  of  his  relations, 
becomes  the  foundation,  and  furnishes  out  the  sub 
jects,  of  the  three  following ;  so  that 

The  second  book  was  to  take  up  again  the  first 
and  second  epistles  of  the  first  book,  and  treat  of 


272  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

man  in  his  intellectual  capacity  at  large,  as  has  been 
explained  above.  Of  this,  only  a  small  part  of  the 
conclusion  (which,  as  we  said,  was  to  have  contain 
ed  a  satire  against  the  misapplication  of  wit  and 
learning)  may  be  found  in  the  fourth  book  of  the 
Dunciad,  and  up  and  down,  occasionally,  in  the  other 
three. 

The  third  book,  in  like  manner,  was  to  re-assume 
the  subject  of  the  third  epistle  of  the  first,  which 
treats  of  man  in  his  social,  political,  and  religious  ca 
pacity.  But  this  part  the  poet  afterwards  conceived 
might  be  best  executed  in  an  epic  poem  ;  as  the  ac 
tion  would  make  it  more  animated,  and  the  fable  less 
invidious :  in  which  all  the  great  principles  of  true 
and  false  governments  and  religions  should  be  chief!} 
delivered  in  feigned  examples. 

The  fourth  and  last  book  was  to  pursue  the  sub 
ject  of  the  fourth  epistle  of  the  first,  and  to  treat  of 
ethics,  or  practical  morality ;  and  would  have  con 
sisted  of  many  members  ;  of  which  the  four  follow 
ing  epistles  were  detached  portions ;  the  first  two, 
on  the  characters  of  men  and  women,  being  the  in 
troductory  part  of  this  concluding  book. 


MORAL  ESSAYS. 
EPISTLE  I. 

TO  SHI  RICHARD  TEMPLE,  LORD  UOBIIAM. 


ARGUMENT. 

Of  the  Knowledge  and  Characters  of  Men. 

1.  That  it  is  not  sufficient  for  this  knowledge  to  consider 
man  in  the  abstract :  books  will  not  serve  the  purpose, 
nor  yet  our  own  experience  singly,  ver.  1.  General  max 
ims,  unless  they  be  formed  upon  both,  will  be  but  no 
tional,  ver.  10.  Some  peculiarity  in  every  man,  charac- 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  273 

<eristic  to  himself,  yet  varying  from  himself,  ver.  15. 
Difficulties  arising  from  our  own  passions,  fancies,  facul 
ties,  &c.  ver.  31.  The  shortness  oif  life  to  observe  in,  and 
the  uncertainty  of  the  principles  of  action  in  men  to 
observe  by,  ver.  37,  &c.  Our  own  principle  of  action 
often  hid  from  ourselves,  ver.  41.  Some  few  characters 
plain,  but  in  general  confounded,  dissembled,  or  incon 
sistent,  ver.  51.  The  same  man  utterly  different  in  dif 
ferent  places  and  seasons,  ver.  62.  Unimaginable  weak 
nesses  in  the  greatest,  ver.  70,  &c.  Nothing  constant  and 
certain  but  God  and  nature,  ver.  95.  No  judging  of  the 
motives  from  the  actions :  the  same  actions  proceeding 
from  contrary  motives,  and  the  same  motives  influencing 
contrary  actions,  ver.  100.  II.  Yet,  to  form  characters, 
we  can  only  take  the  strongest  actions  of  a  man's  life,  and 
try  to  make  them  agree.  The  utter  uncertainty  of  this, 
from  nature  itself,  and  from  policy,  ver.  120.  Character 
Sivea  according  to  the  rank  of  men  of  the  world,  ver.  135. 
And  some  reason  for  it,  ver.  140.  Education  alters  the 
nature,  or  at  least  character,  of  many,  ver.  149.  Actions, 
passions,  opinions,  manners,  humours,  or  principles,  all 
subject  to  change.  No  judging  by  nature,  from  ver.  158 
to  ver.  168.  lit  It  only  remains  to  find  (if  we  can)  his 
ruling  passion  :  That  will  certainly  influence  ail  the  rest, 
and  can  reconcile  the  seeming  or  real  inconsistency  of  all 
his  actions,  ver.  175.  Instanced  in  the  extraordinary 
character  of  Clodio,  ver.  179.  A  caution  against  mistaking 
second  qualities  for  first,  which  will  destroy  all  possibility 
of  the  knowledge  of  mankind,  ver.  210.  Examples  of  the 
strength  of  the  ruling  passion,  and  its  continuation  to  tho 
last  breath,  ver.  222,  &c. 


EPISTLE  I. 

I.  YES,  you  despise  the  man  to  books  confined, 
Who  from  his  study  rails  at  human  kind, 
Though  what  he  learns  he  speaks,  and  may  advance 
Some  general  maxims,  or  be  right  by  chance 
18 


874  POPE  S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  coxcomb  bird,  so  talkative  and  grave, 
That  from  his  cage  cries  cuckold,  whore,  and  knave 
Though  many  a  passenger  he  rightly  call, 
You  hold  him  no  philosopher  at  all. 

And  yet  the  fate  of  all  extremes  is  such, 
Men  may  be  read,  as  well  as  books,  too  much.      10 
To  observations  which  ourselves  we  make, 
We  grow  more  partial  for  the  observer's  sake  ; 
To  written  wisdom,  as  another's,  less; 
Maxims  are  drawn  from  notions,  these  from  guess. 
There's  some  peculiar  in  each  leaf  and  grain, 
Some  unmark'd  fibre,  or  some  varying  vein  : 
Shall  only  man  be  taken  in  the  gross? 
Grant  but  as  many  sorts  of  minds  as  moss. 

That  each  from  others  differs,  first  confess  ; 
Next,  that  he  varies  from  himself  no  less;  20 

Add  nature's,  custom's,  reason's,  passion's  strife, 
And  all  opinion's  colours  cast  on  life. 

Our  depths  who  fathoms,  or  our  shallows  finds 
Quick  whirls,  and  shifting  eddies  of  our  minds? 
On  human  actions  reason  though  you  can, 
It  may  be  reason,  but  it  is  not  man  : 
His  principle  of  action  once  explore, 
That  instant  'tis  his  principle  no  more. 
Like  following  life  through  creatures  you  dissect, 
You  lose  it  in  the  moment  you  detect.  30 

Yet  more  ;  the  difference  is  as  great  between 
The  optics  seeing,  as  the  objects  seen. 
All  manners  take  a  tincture  from  our  own  ; 
Or  some  discolour'd  through  our  passions  shown 
Or  fancy's  beam  enlarges,  multiplies, 
Contracts,  inverts,  and  gives  ten  thousand  dyes. 

Nor  will  life's  stream  for  observation  stay; 
It  hurries  all  too  fast  to  mark  their  way: 
In  vain  sedate  reflections  we  would  make, 
When  half  our  knowledge  we  must  snatch,  not  take} 
Oft,  in  the  passions'  wild  rotation  toss'd, 
Our  spring  of  action  to  ourselves  is  lost ; 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  271 

Tired,  not  determined,  to  the  last  we  yield, 

And  what  comes  then  is  master  of  the  field. 

As  the  last  image  of  that  troubled  heap, 

When  sense  subsides  and  fancy  sports  in  sleep, 

(Though  past  the  recollection  of  the  thought,) 

Becomes  the  stuff  of  which  our  dream  is  wrought ; 

Something  as  dim  to  our  internal  view, 

Is  thus,  perhaps,  the  cause  of  most  we  do.  50 

True,  some  are  open,  and  to  all  men  known  ; 
Others,  so  very  close,  they're  hid  from  none ; 
(So  darkness  strikes  the  sense  no  less  than  light :) 
Thus  gracious  Chandos  is  beloved  at  sight ; 
And  every  child  hates  Shylock,  though  his  soul 
Siill  sits  at  squat,  and  peeps  not  from  its  hole. 
At  half  mankind  when  generous  Manly  raves, 
All  know  'tis  virtue,  for  he  thinks  them  knaves  ; 
When  universal  homage  Umbra  pays, 
All  see  'tis  vice,  an  itch  of  vulgar  praise.  60 

When  flattery  glares,  all  hate  it  in  a  queen, 
While  one  there  is  who  charms  us  with  his  spleen. 

But  these  plain  characters  we  rarely  find  ; 
Though  strong  the  bent,  yet  quick  the  turns  of  mind: 
Or  puzzling  contraries  confound  the  whole  ; 
Or  affectations  quite  reverse  the  soul. 
The  dull  flat  falsehood  serves  for  policy ; 
And  in  the  cunning,  truth  itself's  a  lie  : 
Unthought  of  frailties  cheat  us  in  the  wise  ; 
The  fool  lies  hid  in  inconsistencies.  70 

See  the  same  man,  in  vigour,  in  the  gout, 
Alone,  iti  company  ;  in  place,  or  out ; 
Early  at  business,  and  at  hazard  late  ; 
Mad  at  a  fox-chase,  wise  at  a  debate  ; 
Drunk  at  a  borough,  civil  at  a  ball ; 
Friendly  at  Hackney,  faithless  at  Whitehall. 

Catius  is  ever  moral,  ever  grave, 
Thinks  who  endures  a  knave,  is  next  a  knave, 
Save  just  at  dinner — then  prefers,  no  doubt, 
A  rogue  with  venison  to  a  saint  without.  8C 


*76  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Who  would  not  praise  Patricio's  high  desert, 
HJS  hand  unstain'd,  his  uncorrupted  heart, 
His  comprehensive  head,  all  interests  weigh'd, 
All  Europe  saved,  yet  Britain  not  betrayM? 
He  thanks  you  not,  his  pride  is  in  piquet, 
Newmarket-fame,  and  judgment  at  a  bet. 

What  made  (say,Montagne,or  more  sage  Charron!) 
Otho  a  warrior,  Cromwell  a  buffoon? 
A  perjured  prince  a  leaden  saint  revere, 
A  godless  regent  tremble  at  a  star1?  9« 

The  throne  a  bigot  keep,  a  genius  quit, 
Faithless  through  piety,  and  duped  through  wit? 
Europe  a  woman,  child,  or  dotard  rule, 
And  just  her  wisest  monarch  made  a  fool  1 

Know,  God  and  nature  only  are  the  same ; 
In  man,  the  judgment  shoots  at  flying  game: 
A  bird  of  passage !  gone  as  soon  as  found, 
Now  in  the  moon,  perhaps,  now  under  ground. 

II.  In  vain  the  sage,  with  retrospective  eye, 
Would  from  the  apparent  what,conclude  the  why ;  lOf 
Infer  the  motive  from  the  deed,  and  show, 
That  what  we  chanced,  was  what  we  meant  to  do 
Behold,  if  fortune  or  a  mistress  frowns, 
Some  plunge  in  business,  others  shave  their  crowns  • 
To  ease  the  soul  of  one  oppressive  weight, 
This  quits  an  empire,  that  embroils  a  state: 
The  same  adust  complexion  has  impell'd 
Charles  to  the  convent,  Philip  to  the  field. 

Not  always  actions  show  the  man  ;  we  find 
Who  does  a  kindness,  is  not  therefore  kind  :         110 
Perhaps  prosperity  becalm'd  his  breast, 
Perhaps  the  wind  just  shifted  from  the  east : 
Not  therefore  humble  he  who  seeks  retreat, 
Pride  guides  his  steps,  and  bids  him  shun  the  great 
Who  combats  bravely  is  not  therefore  brave, 
He  dreads  a  death-bed  like  the  meanest  slave 
Who  reasons  wisely  is  not  therefore  wise, 
His  pride  in  reasoning,  not  in  acting,  lies. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  377 

But  grant  that  actions  best  discover  man  : 
Take  the  most  strong,  and  sort  them  as  you  can  :  120 
The  few  that  glare,  each  character  must  mark, 
You  balance  not  the  many  in  the  dark. 
What  will  you  do  with  such  as  disagree1] 
Suppress  them,  or  miscall  them  policy'? 
Must  then  at  once  (the  character  to  save) 
The  plain  rough  hero  turn  a  crafty  knave? 
Alas!  in  truth  the  man  but  changed  his  mind, 
Perhaps  was  sick,  in  love,  or  had  not  dined. 
Ask  why  from  Britain  Caesar  would  retreat? 
Caesar  himself  migh.t  whisper,  he  was  beat.  130 

Why  risk  the  world's  great  empire  for  a  punk? 
Cccsar  perhaps  might  answer  he  was  drunk. 
But,  sage  historians  !  'tis  your  task  to  prove 
One  action,  conduct ;  one,  heroic  love. 

'Tis  from  high  life  high  characters  are  drawn, 
A  saint  in  crape  is  twice  a  saint  in  lawn ; 
A  judge  is  just,  a  chancellor  juster  still ; 
A  gownman  learn'd,  a  bishop  what  you  will; 
Wise,  if  a  minister ;  but.  if  a  king, 
More  wise,  more  learn'd,  more  just,  more  every  thing. 
Court  virtues  bear  like  gems,  the  highest  rate,      141 
Born  where  heaven's  influence  scarce  can  penetrate: 
In  life's  low  vale,  the  soil  the  virtues  like, 
They  please  as  beauties,  here  as  wonders  strike. 
Thougn  the  same  sun  with  all- diffusive  rays 
Blus-h.  in  the  rose,  and  in  the  diamond  blaze 
We  prize  the  stronger  effort  of  his  power, 
And  justly  set  the  gem  above  the  flower. 

'Tis  education  forms  the  common  mind  : 
Just  as  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree's  inclined.          II 
Boastful  and  rough,  your  first  son  is  a  'squire  ; 
The  next  a  tradesman,  meek,  and  much  a  liar  : 
Tom  struts  a  soldier,  open,  bold,  and  brave: 
Will  sneaks  a  scrivener,  an  exceeding  knave. 
Is  he  a  churchman  ?  then  he's  fond  of  power  • 
Aquaker?  sly:  a presbyterian ?  sour: 
A  smart  free-thinker?  all  things  in  an  hour. 


278  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Ask  men's  opinions :  Scoto  now  shall  tell 
How  trade  increases,  and  the  world  goes  well: 
Strike  off  his  pension,  by  the  setting  sun,  160 

And  Britain,  if  not  Europe,  is  undone. 

That  gay  free-thinker,  a  fine  talker  once, 
What  turns  him  now  a  stupid  silent  dunce? 
Some  god,  or  spirit,  he  has  lately  found  ; 
Or  chanced  to  meet  a  minister  that  frovvn'd. 

Judge  we  by  nature?  habit  can  efface, 
Interest  o'ercome,  or  policy  take  place  : 
By  actions  ?  those  uncertainty  divides : 
By  passions?  these  dissimulation  hides: 
Opinions?  they  still  take  a  wider  range  :  170 

Find,  if  you  can,  in  what  you  cannot  change. 

Manners  with  fortunes,  humours  turn  with  climes, 
Tenets  with  books,  and  principles  with  times. 

III.  Search  then  the  ruling  passion  :  There,  alone, 
The  wild  are  constant,  and  the  cunning  known  ; 
The  fool  consistent,  and  the  false  sincere; 
Priests,  princes,  women,  no  dissemblers  here. 
This  clew  once  found  unravels  all  the  rest, 
The  prospect  clears,  and  Wharton  stands  confess'd. 
Wharton  !  the  scorn  and  wonder  of  our  days,      180 
Whose  ruling  passion  was  the  lust  of  praise  ; 
Born  with  whate'er  could  win  it  from  the  wise, 
Women  and  fools  must  like  him,  or  he  dies  : 
Though  wondering  senates  hung  on  all  he  spoke, 
The  club  must  hail  him  master  of  the  joke. 
Shall  parts  so  various  aim  at  nothing  new? 
He'll  shine  a  Tully  and  a  Wilmot  too  ; 
Then  turns  repentant,  and  his  God  adores 
With  the  same  spirit  that  he  drinks  and  whores , 
Enough  if  all  around  him  but  admire,  198 

And  now  the  punk  applaud,  and  now  the  friar. 
Thus  with  each  gift  of  nature  and  of  art, 
And  wanting  nothing  but  an  honest  heart : 
Grown  all  to  all,  from  no  one  vice  exempt, 
And  most  contemptible,  to  shun  contempt. ; 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  279 

His  passion  still,  to  covet  general  praise ; 

His  life,  to  forfeit  it  a  thousand  ways ; 

A  constant  bounty,  which  no  friend  has  made ; 

An  angel  tongue,  which  no  man  can  persuade ; 

A  fool,  with  more  of  wit  than  half  mankind,        200 

Too  rash  for  thought,  for  action  too  refined  • 

A  tyrant  to  the  wife  his  heart  approves; 

A  rebel  to  the  very  king  he  loves; 

He  dies,  sad  outcast  of  each  church  and  state, 

And  harder  still!  flagitious,  yet  not  great. 

Ask  you  why  Wharton  broke  through  every  rule ; 

'Twas  all  for  fear  the  knaves  should  call  him  fool. 

Nature  well  known,  no  prodigies  remain, 
Comets  are  regular,  and  Wharton  plain. 

Yet,  in  this  search,  the  wisest  may  mistake,     210 
If  second  qualities  for  first  they  take. 
When  Catiline  by  rapine  swell'd  his  store ; 
When  Caesar  made  a  noble  dame  a  whore 
In  this  the  lust,  in  that  the  avarice, 
Were  means,  not  ends ;  ambition  was  the  vice. 
That  very  Caesar,  born  in  Scipio's  days, 
Had  aim'd  like  him,  by  chastity,  at  praise, 
Lucullus,  when  frugality  could  charm, 
Had  roasted  turnips  in  the  Sabine  farm. 
In  vain  the  observer  eyes  the  builder's  toil,  220 

But  quite  mistakes  the  scaffold  for  the  pile. 

In  this  one  passion  man  can  strength  enjoy, 
As  fits  give  vigour  just  when  they  destroy. 
Time,  that  on  all  things  lays  his  lenient  hand,    ' 
Vet  tames  not  this  ;  it  sticks  to  our  last  sand. 
Consistent  in  our  follies  and  our  sins, 
Here  honest  Nature  ends  as  she  begins. 

Old  politicians  chew  on  wisdom  past, 
Aftd  totter  on  in  business  to  the  last ; 
As  weak,  as  earnest ;  and  as  gravely  out,  236 

As  sober  Lanesborow  dancing  in  the  gout. 

Behold  a  reverend  sire,  whom  want  of  grace 
Has  made  the  father  of  a  nameless  race, 


280  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Shoved  from  the  wall  perhaps,  or  rudely  press'd 
By  his  own  son,  that  passes  by  unbless'd  : 
Still  to  his  wench  he  crawls  on  knocking  knees, 
And  envies  every  sparrow  that  he  sees. 

A  salmon's  belly,  Helluo,  was  thy  fate; 
The  doctor  caiFd,  declares  all  help  too  late. 

1  Mercy !'  cries  Helluo,  '  mercy  on  my  soul  I     240 
Is  there  no  hope?— Alas!— then  bring  the  jowl.' 

The  frugal  crone,  whom  praying  priests  attend, 
Still  strives  to  save  the  hallow' d  taper's  end, 
Collects  her  breath,  as  ebbing  life  retires, 
For  one  puff  more,  and  in  that  puff  expires. 

'Odious  !  in  woollen  !  'twould  a  saint  provoke,' 
Were  the  last  words  that  poor  Narcissa  spoke; 
'No,  let  a  charming  chintz  and  Brussels  lace 
Wrap  my  cold  limbs,  and  shade  my  lifeless  face; 
One  would  not,  sure,  be  frightful  when  one's  dead — 
And — Betty — give  this  cheek  a  little  red.'  251 

The  courtier  smooth,  who  forty  years  had  shined 
An  humble  servant  to  all  human  kind, 
Just  brought  out  this,  when  scarce  his  tongue  could 

stir, 
'If— where  I'm  going — I  could  serve  you,  sir!' 

'I  give  and  I  devise,'  old  Euclio  said, 
And  sigh'd,  '  my  lands  and  tenements  to  Ned.' 

'  Your  money,  sir  1' — '  My  money,  sir,  what  all  ? 
Why,— if  I  must'— then  wept,  'I  give  it  Paul.' 
'  The  manor,  sir  T — '  The  manor  !  hold,'  he  cried,  SCO 
'Not  that,— I  cannot  part  with  that,'— and  died. 

And  you !  brave  Cobham,  to  the  latest  breath, 
Shall  feel  your  ruling  passion  strong  in  death  : 
Such  in  these  moments  as  in  all  the  past, 
Oh,  save  my  country,  Heaven  !'  shall  be  your  last. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  881 

EPISTLE  II. 
TO    A    LADY. 


ARGUMENT. 

Of  the  Characters  of  Women. 

That  the  particular  characters  of  women  are  not  so  st.ongly 
marked  as  those  of  men,  seldom  so  fixed,  and  still  more 
inconsistent  with  themselves,  ver.  1,  &c.  Instances  of 
contrarieties  given,  even  from  such  characters  as  ara 
more  strongly  marked,  and  seemingly,  therefore,  most 
consistent:  as,  1.  In  the  affected.— 2.  In  the  soft  nalured. — 
3.  In  the  cunning  and  artful. — 4.  In  the  whimsical. — 5.  In 
the  lewd  and  vicious. — 6.  In  the  witty  and  refined. — 7.  In 
the  stupid  and  simple,  ver.  21  to  207.  The  former  part 
having  shown  that  the  particular  characters  of  women 
are  more  various  than  those  of  men,  it  is  nevertheless 
observed  that  the  general  characteristic  of  the  sex,  as  to 
the  ruling  passion,  is  more  uniform,  ver.  207.  This  is 
occasioned  partly  by  their  nature,  partly  by  their  educa 
tion,  and  in  some  degree  by  necessity,  ver.  211.  What 
are  the  aims  and  the  fate  of  this  sex : — 1.  As  to  power. — 2. 
As  to  pleasure,  ver.  219.  Advice  for  their  true  interest — 
The  picture  of  an  estimable  woman,  with  the  best  kind  of 
contrarieties,  ver.  249  to  the  end. 


There  is  nothing  in  Mr.  Pope's  works  more  highly 
finished  than  this  epistle  :  yet  its  success  was  in  no 
proportion  to  the  pains  he  took  in  composing  it. 
Something  he  chanced  to  drop  in  a  short  advertise 
ment  prefixed  to  it  on  its  first  publication,  may,  per 
haps  account  for  the  small  attention  given  to  it.  He 
said  that  no  one  character  in  it  was  drawn  from  the 
life.  The  public  believed  him  on  his  word,  and  ex 
pressed  little  curiosity  about  a  satire,  in  which  there 
was  nothing  personal. 

NOTHING  so  true  as  what  you  once  let  fall, 
Most  women  hav'e  no  characters  at  all.' 


182  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Matter  too  soft  a  lasting  mark  to  bear, 

And  best  distinguish'd  by  black,  brown,  or  fair. 

How  many  pictures  of  one  nymph  we  view, 
All  how  unlike  each  other,  all  how  true! 
Arcadia's  countess,  here,  in  ermined  pride 
Is  there,  Pastora  by  a  fountain  side. 
Here  Faunia,  leering  on  her  own  good  man, 
And  there,  a  naked  Led  a  with  a  swan.  16 

Let  then  the  fair-one  beautifully  cry, 
In  Magdalen's  loose  hair,  and  lifted  eye; 
Or  dress'd  in  smiles  of  sweet  Cecilia  shine, 
With  simpering  angels,  palms,  and  harps  divine  j 
Whether  the  charmer  sinner  it,  or  saint  it, 
If  folly  grow  romantic,  I  must  paint  it. 

Come  then  the  colours  and  the  ground  prepare! 
Dip  in  the  rainbow,  trick  her  off  in  air ; 
Choose  a  firm  cloud,  before  it  fail,  and  in  it 
Catch,  ere  she  change,  the  Cynthia  of  this  minute.  20 

Rufa,  whose  eye,  quick  glancing  o'er  the  park, 
Attracts  each  light  gay  meteor  of  a  spark, 
Agrees  as  ill  with  Rafa  studying  Locke, 
As  Sappho's  diamonds  with  her  dirty  smock  ; 
Or  Sappho  at  her  toilet's  greasy  task, 
With  Sappho  fragrant  at  an  evening  mask  : 
So  morning  insects,  that  in  muck  begun, 
Shine,  buzz,  and  fly-blow  in  the  setting  sun. 

How  soft  is  Silia  !  fearful  to  offend  ; 
The  frail-one's  advocate,  the  weak-one's  friend,   30 
To  her,  Calista  proved  her  conduct  nice ; 
And  good  Simplicius  asks  of  her  advice. 
Sudden,  she  storms !  she  raves !  You  tip  the  wink, 
But  spare  your  censure ;  Silia  does  not  drink. 
All  eyes  may  see  from  what  the  change  arose, 
All  eyes  may  see — a  pimple  on  her  nose. 

Papilia,  wedded  to  her  amorous  spark, 
Sighs  for  the  shades — '  How  charming  is  a  park !' 
A  park  is  purchased,  but  the  fair  he  sees 
All  bathed  in  tears—'  Oh  odious,  odious  trees  1' 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  283 

Ladies,  like  variegated  tulips,  show, 
Tis  to  their  changes  half  their  charms  they  owe 
Fine  by  defect,  and  delicately  weak, 
Their  happy  spots  the  nice  admirer  take. 
'Twas  thus  Calypso  once  each  heart  alarm'd, 
Awed  without  virtue,  without  beauty  charm'd  j 
Her  tongue  bewitched  as  oddly  as  her  eyes  ; 
Less  wit  than  mimic,  more  a  wit  than  wise  : 
Strange  graces  still,  and  stranger  flights  she  had, 
Was  just  not  ugly,  and  was  just  not  mad  ;  58 

Yet  ne'er  so  sure  our  passions  to  create, 
As  when  she  touch'd  the  brink  of  all  we  hate. 

Narcissa's  nature,  tolerably  mild, 
To  make  a  wash  would  hardly  stew  a  child ; 
Has  e'en  been  proved  to  grant  a  lover's  prayer, 
And  paid  a  tradesman  once  to  make  him  stare  • 
Gave  alms  at  Easter  in  a  Christian  trim, 
And  made  a  widow  happy  for  a  whim. 
Why  then  declare  good-nature  is  her  scorn, 
When  'tis  by  that  alone  she  can  be  borne'?  6C 

Why  pique  all  mortals,  .yet  affect  a  name  7 
A  fool  to  pleasure,  yet  a  slave  to  fame  : 
Now  deep  in  Taylor  and  the  book  of  Martyrs, 
Now  drinking  citron  with  his  grace  and  Chartres: 
Now  conscience  chills  her,  and  now  passion  burns 
And  atheism  and  religion  take  their  turns ; 
A  very  heathen  in  the  carnal  part, 
Yet  still  a  sad  good  Christian  at  her  heart. 

See  sin  in  state,  majestically  drunk, 
Proud  as  a  peeress,  prouder  as  a  punk  ;  70 

Chaste  to  her  husband,  frank  to  all  beside, 
A  teeming  mistress,  but  a  barren  bride. 
What  then?  let  blood  and  body  bear  the  fault, 
Her  head's  untouch'd,  that  noble  seat  of  thought ; 
Such  this  day's  doctrine— in  another  fit 
She  sins  with  poets  through  pure  love  of  wit. 
What  has  not  fired  her  bosom  or  her  brain '? 
Coesar  and  Tall-boy,  Charies  and  Charlemagne 


284  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

As  Helluo,  late  dictator  of  the  feast, 

The  nose  of  haut-gout,  and  the  tip  of  taste,  80 

Critiqued  your  wine,  and  analysed  your  meat, 

Yet  on  plain  pudding  deign'd  at  home  to  eat: 

So  Philomede",  lecturing  all  mankind 

On  the  soft  passion,  and  the  taste  refined, 

The  address,  the  delicacy — stoops  at  once, 

And  makes  her  hearty  meal  upon  a  dunce. 

Flavia's  a  wit,  has  too  much  sense  to  pray; 
To  toast  our  wants  and  wishes,  is  her  way  ; 
Nor  asks  of  God,  but  of  her  stars,  to  give 
The  mighty  blessing,  '  while  we  live,  to  live.'          90 
Then  all  for  death,  that  opiate  of  the  soul ! 
Lucretia's  dagger,  Rosamonda's  bowl. 
Say,  what  can  cause  such  impotence  of  mind? 
A  spark  too  fickle,  or  a  spouse  too  kfhd. 
Wise  wretch!  with  pleasure  too  refin'd  to  please; 
With  too  much  spirit  to  be  e'er  at  ease ; 
With  too  much  quickness  ever  to  be  taught; 
With  too  much  thinking  to  have  common  thought : 
You  purchase  pain  with  all  that  joy  can  give, 
And  die  of  nothing  but  a  rage  to  live.  !00 

Turn  then  from  wits,  and  look  on  Simo's  mate ; 
No  ass  so  meek,  no  ass  so  obstinate  : 
Or  her  that  owns  her  faults  but  never  mends, 
Because  she's  honest,  and  the  best  of  friends: 
Or  her  whose  life  the  church  and  scandal  share, 
For  ever  in  a  passion  or  a  prayer  : 
Or  her  who  laughs  at  hell,  but  (like  her  grace) 
Cries,  'Ah!  how  charming  if  there's  no  such  place  ' 
Or  who  in  sweet  vicissitude  appears,     • 
Of  mirth  and  opium,  ratafie  and  tears,  110 

The  daily  anodyne,  and  nightly  draught 
To  kill  those  foes  to  fair  ones,  time  and  thought. 
Woman  and  fool  are  two  hard  things  to  hit : 
For  true  no-meaning  puzzles  more  than  wit. 
But  \vhat  are  those  to  great  Atossa's  mind? 
Scarce  once  herself,  by  turns  all  womankind  ; 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  285 

Who,  with  herself,  or  others,  from  her  birth, 
Finds  all  her  life  one  warfare  upon  earth. 
Shines  in  exposing  knaves  and  painting  fools, 
Yet  is  whate'er  she  hates  and  ridicules.  120 

No  thought  advances,  but  her  eddy  brain 
Whisks  it  about,  and  down  it  goes  again. 
Full  sixty  years  the  world  has  been  her  trade, 
The  wisest  fool  much  time  has  ever  made. 
From  loveless  youth  to  unrespected  age 
No  passion  gratified,  except  her  rage : 
So  much  the  fury  still  outran  the  wit, 
That  pleasure  miss'd  her,  and  the  scandal  hit. 
Who  breaks  with  her,  provokes  revenge  from  hell, 
But  he's  a  bolder  man  who  dares  be  well.  130 

Her  every  turn  with  violence  pursued. 
Nor  more  a  storm  her  hate  than  gratitude  : 
To  that  each  passion  turns,  or  soon  or  late ; 
Love,  if  it  makes  her  yield,  must  make  her  hate. 
Superiors']  death!  and  equals?  what  a  curse! 
But  an  inferior  not  dependent !  worse. 
Offend  her,  and  she  knows  not  to  forgive; 
Oblige  her,  and  she'll  hate  you  while  you  live: 
But  die,  and  she'll  adore  you — Then  the  bust 
And  temple  rise— then  fall  again  to  dust.  140 

Last  night,  her  lord  was  all  that's  good  and  great ; 
A  knave  this  morning,  and  his  will  a  cheat. 
Strange!  by  the  means  defeated  of  the  ends, 
By  spirit  robb'd  of  power,  by  warmth  of  friends, 
By  wealth  of  followers!  without  one  distress 
Sick  of  herself,  through  very  selfishness  ! 
Atossa,  cursed  with  every  granted  prayer, 
Childless  with  all  her  children,  wants  an  heir. 
To  heirs  unknown  descends  the  unguarded  store, 
Or  wanders,  Heaven-directed,  to  the  poor ! 

Pictures,  like  these,  dear  madam,  to  design,       150 
Asks  no  firm  hand,  and  no  unerring  line  ; 
Some  wandering  touches,  some  reflected  light, 
Some  flying  stroke  alone  can  hit  them  right : 


286  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

For  how  should  equal  colours  do  the  knack1? 
Cameleons  who  can  paint  in  white  and  black! 

'  Yet  Chios  sure  was  form'd  without  a  spot.' — 
Nature  in  her  then  err'd  not,  but  forgot. 

With  every  pleasing,  every  prudent  part, 
Say,  what  can  Chloe  want? — She  wants  a  heart.  16§ 
She  speaks,  behaves,  and  acts  just  as  she  ought; 
But  never,  never  reach'd  one  generous  though 
Virtue  she  finds  too  painful  an  endeavour, 
Content  to  dwell  in  decencies  for  ever. 
So  very  reasonable,  so  unmoved, 
As  nevor  yet  to  love,  o.r  to  be  loved. 
She,  while  her  lover  pants  upon  her  breast, 
Can  mark  the  figures  on  an  Indian  chest; 
And  when  she  sees  her  friend  in  deep  despair 
Observes  how  much  a  chintz  exceeds  mohair.      170 
Forbid  i',,  Heaven,  a  favour  or  a  debt 
She  e'er  should  cancel— but  she  may  forget. 
Safe  if  your  secret  still  in  Chloe's  ear; 
But  none  of  Chloe's  shall  you  ever  hear. 
Of  alf  her  dears  she  never  slander'd  one, 
But  cares  not  if  a  thousand  are  undone. 
Would  Chloe  know  if  you're  alive  or  dead  ? 
She  bids  her  footman  put  it  in  her  head. 
Chloe  is  prudent — Would  you  too  be  wise? 
Then  never  break  your  heart  when  Chloe  dies.    18G 

One  certain  portrait  may  (I  grant)  be  seen, 
Which  Heaven  has  varnish'd  out,  and  made  a  queen 
The  same  for  ever !  and  described  by  all 
With  truth  and  goodness,  as  with  crown  and  ball. 
Poets  heap  virtues,  painters  gems  at  will, 
And  show  their  zeal,  and  hide  their  want  of  skill. 
'Tis  well — but  artists!  who  can  paint  or  write, 
To  draw  the  naked  is  your  true  delight. 
That  robe  of  quality  so  struts  and  swells, 
None  see  what  parts  of  nature  it  conceals :  198 

The  exactest  traits  of  body  or  of  mind, 
We  owe  to  models  of  an  humble  kind. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  287 

If  Queensberry  to  strip  there's  no  compelling, 
'Tis  from  a  handmaid  we  must  take  a  Helen. 
From  peer  or  bishop,  'tis  no  easy  thing 
To  draw  the  man  who  loves  his  God  or  king; 
Alas !  I  copy  (or  my  draught  would  fail) 
From  honest  Mahomet  or  plain  parson  Hale. 

But  grant,  in  public  men  sometimes  are  shown, 
A  woman's  seen  in  private  life  alone  :  200 

Our  bolder  talents  in  full  light  display'd, 
Your  virtues  open  fairest  in  the  shade. 
Bred  to  disguise,  in  public  'tis  you  hide  ; 
There,  none  distinguish  'twixtyour  shade  or  pride, 
Weakness  or  delicacy;  all  so  nice, 
That  each  may  seem  a  virtue  or  a  vice. 

In  men  we  various  ruling  passions  find ; 
In  women,  two  almost  divide  the  kind  : 
Those,  only  fix'd,  they  first  or  last  obey, 
The  love  of  pleasure,  and  the  love  of  sway.         210 
That  nature  gives ;  and  where  the  lesson  taught 
Is  but  to  please,  can  pleasure  seem  a  fault? 
Experience,  this  ;  by  man's  oppression  cursed, 
They  seek  the  second  not  to  lose  the  first. 

Men,  some  to  business,  some  to  pleasure  take;    • 
But  every  woman  is  at  heart  a  rake  : 
Men,  some  to  quiet,  some  to  public  strife, 
But  every  lady  would  be  queen  for  life. 

Yet  mark  the  fate  of  a  whole  sex  of  queens ! 
Power  all  their  end,  but  beauty  all  the  means :    220 
In  youth  they  conquer  with  so  wild  a  rage, 
As  leaves  them  scarce  a  subject  in  their  age : 
For  foreign  glory,  foreign  jby,  they  roam ; 
No  thought  of  peace  or  happiness  at  home. 
But  wisdom's  triumph  is  well-timed  retreat, 
As  hard  a  science  to  the  fair  as  great ! 
Beauties,  like  tyrants,  old  and  friendless  grown, 
Yet  hate  repose,  and  dread  to  be  alone; 
Worn  out  in  public,  weary  every  eye, 
Nor  leave  one.  sigh  behind  them  when  they  die.     B30 


288  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Pleasures  the  sex,  as  children  birds  pursue, 
Still  out  of  reach,  yet  never  out  of  view  ; 
Sure,  if  they  catch,  to  spoil  the  toy  at  most, 
To  covet  flying,  and  regret  when  lost ; 
At  last,  to  follies  youth  could  scarce  defend, 
It  grows  their  ags's  prudence  to  pretend ; 
Ashamed  to  own  they  gave  delight  before, 
Reduced  to  feign  it,  when  they  give  no  more  : 
As  hags  hold  sabbaths  less  for  joy  than  spite, 
So  these  their  merry,  miserable  night ;  241 

Still  round  and  round  the  ghosts  of  beauty  glide, 
And  haunt  the  places  where  their  honour  died. 

See  how  the  world  its  veterans  rewards! 
A  youth  of  frolics,  an  old  age  of  cards ; 
Fair  to  no  purpose,  artful  to  no  end, 
Young  without  lovers,  old  without  a  friend ; 
A  fop  their  passion,  but  their  prize  a  sot, 
Alive  ridiculous,  and  dead  forgot ! 

Ah,  friend  !  to  dazzle  let  the  vain  design : 
To  raise  the  thought,  and  touch  the  heart,  be 

thine !  250 

That  charm  shall  grow,  while  what  fatigues  the 

,    ring, 

Flaunts  and  goes  down,  an  unregarded  thing  : 
So  when  the  sun's  broad  beam  has  tired  the  sight, 
All  mild  ascends  the  moon's  more  sober  light, 
Serene  in  virgin  modesty  she  shines, 
And  unobserved  the  glaring  orb  declines. 

O  !  bless'd  with  temper,  whose  unclouded  ray 
Can  make  to-morrow  cheerful  as  to-day  ; 
She  who  can  love  a  sister's  charms,  or  hear 
Sighs  for  a  daughter,  with  unwounded  ear ;         261 
She  who  ne'er  answers  till  a  husband  cools ; 
Or,  if  she  rules  him,  never  shows  she  rules  ; 
Charms  by  accepting,  by  submitting  sways, 
Vet  has  her  humour  most  when  she  obeys ; 
Let  fops  or  fortune  fly  which  way  they  will, 
Disdains  all  loss  of  tickets  or  codille.j 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  289 

Spleen,  vapours,  or  small-pox,  above  them  all, 
And  mistress  of  herself  though  china  fall. 

And  yet,  believe  me,  good  as  well  as  ill, 
Woman's  at  best  a  contradiction  still.  270 

Heaven  when  it  strives  to  polish  all  it  can 
Its  last  best  work,  but  forms  a  softer  man ; 
Picks  from  each  sex,  to  make  the  favourite  bless'd, 
Your  love  of  pleasure,  our  desire  of  rest ; 
Blends  in  exception  to  all  general  rules, 
Your  taste  of  follies,  with  our  scorn  of  fools  ; 
Reserve  with  frankness,  art  with  truth  allied, 
Courage  with  softness,  modesty  with  pride ; 
Fix'd  principles  with  fancy  ever  new ; 
Shakes  all  together,  and  produces— you.  280 

Be  this  a  woman's  fame ;  with  this  unbless'd, 
Toasts  live  a  scorn,  and  queens  may  die  a  jest. 
This  Phoebus  promised,  (I  forget  the  year,) 
When  those  blue  eyes  first  open'd  on  the  sphere  j 
Ascendant  Phcebus  watch'd  that  hour  with  care, 
Averted  half  your  parents'  simple  prayer; 
And  gave  you  beauty,  but  denied  the  pelf 
That  buys  your  sex  a  tyrant  o'er  itself. 
The  generous  god,  who  wit  and  gold  refines, 
And  ripens  spirits  as  he  ripens  mines,  290 

Kept  dross  for  duchesses,  the  world  shall  know  it, 
To  you  gave  sense,  good-humour,  and  a  poet. 


EPISTLE  HI. 
TO  ALLEN,  LORD  BATHURST. 

ARGUMENT. 
Of  the  Use  of  Riches 

That  it  is  known  to  few,  most  falling  into  one  of  the 
extremes,  avarice  or  profusion,  ver.  1,  &c.    The  point 
discussed,  whether  the  invention  of  money  has  lieen 
more  commodious  or  pernicious  to  mankind,  ver.  21  to 
19 


290          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

77.  That  riches,  either  to  the  avaricious  or  tht  pro. 
digal,  cannot  afford  happiness,  scarcely  necessaries 
ver.  89  to  ICO.  That  avarice  is  an  absolute  frenzy 
without  an  end  or  purpose,  ver.  113,  &c  152.  Conjec 
tures  about  the  motives  of  avaricious  men,  ver.  121  tc 
15:).  That  the  conduct  of  men  with  respect  to  riches, 
can  only  be  accounted  for  by  the  order  of  Providence, 
which  works  the  general  good  out  of  extremes,  and 
brings  all  to  its  great  end  by  perpetual  revolutions, 
ver.  101  to  178.  How  a  miser  acts  upon  principles 
which  appaar  to  him  reasonable,  ver.  17U.  How  a  pro 
digal  does  the  same,  ver.  l!)t).  The  true  medium,  and 
true  use  of  riches,  ver.  219.  The  man  of  Ross,  ver. 
2oO.  The  fate  of  the  profuse  and  the  covetous,  in  two 
examples;  both  miserable  in  life  and  in  death,  ver.  300 
&c.  The  story  of  Sir  Balaam,  ver.  339  to  the  end 


This  epistle  was  written  after  a  very  violent  outcry 
against  our  author,  on  a  supposition  that  he  had  ridi 
culed  a  worthy  nobleman,  merely  for  his  wrong  taste. 
He  justified  himself  upon  that  article  in  a  letter  to  the 
Earl  of  Burlington ;  at  the  end  of  which  are  these 
words  :  '  I  have  learnt  that  there  are  some  who  would 
rather  be  wicked  than  ridiculous:  and  therefore  it 
may  be  safer  to  attack  vices  than  follies.  I  will  there 
fore  leave  my  betters  in  the  quiet  possession  of  their 
idols,  their  groves,  and  their  high-places,  and  change 
my  subject  from  their  pride  to  their  meanness,  from 
their  vanities  to  their  miseries;  and  as  the  only  cer 
tain  way  to  avoid  misconstructions,  to  lessen  oii'ence, 
and  not  to  multiply  ill-natured  applications,  I  may 
probably  in  my  next  make  use  of  real  names  instead 
of  fictitious  oiies.' 


P.  Wno  shall  decide  when  doctors  disagree, 
And  soundest  casuists  doubt,  like  you  and  me  ? 
You  hold  the  word,  from  Jove  to  Momus  given, 
That  man  was  made  the  standing  jest  of  Heaven 
And  gold  but  sent  to  keep  the  fools  in  play, 
For  some  to  heap,  and  some  to  throw  away. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  293 

But  I,  who  think  more  highly  of  our  kind, 
(And,  surely,  Heaven  and  1  are  of  a  mind,) 
Opine,  that  nature,  as  in  duty  bound, 
Deep  hid  the  shining  mischief  under  ground  10 

But  when,  by  man's  audacious  labour  won, 
Flamed  forth  this  rival  to  its  sire  the  sun, 
Then  careful  Heaven  supplied  two  sorts  of  men, 
To  squander  these,  and  those  to  hide  again. 

Like  doctors  thus,  when  much  dispute  has  pass'd, 
We  find  our  tenets  just  the  same  at  last: 
Both  fairly  owning  riches,  in  effect, 
No  grace  of  Heaven,  or  token  of  the  elect: 
Given  to  the  fool,  the  mad,  the  vain,  the  evil, 
To  Ward,  to  Waters,  Cliartres,  and  the  devil.         20 

B.  What  nature  wants,  commodious  gold  bestows: 
Tis  thus  we  eat  the  broad  another  sows. 

P.  But  how  unequal  it  bestows,  observe ; 
Tis  thus  we  riot,  while,  who  sow  it,  starve: 
What  nature  wants  (a  phrase  I  much  distrust) 
Extends  to  luxury,  extends  to  lust: 
Useful,  I  grant,  it  serves  what  life  requires, 
But,  dreadful  too,  the  dark  assassin  hires. 

B.  Trade  it  may  help,  society  extend  : 

P.  But  lures  the  pirate,  and  corrupts  the  friend.  30 

B.  It  raises  armies  in  a  nation's  aid  : 

P.  But  bribes  a  senate,  and  the  land  's  betray'd. 
In  vain  may  heroes  fight  and  patriots  rave, 
If  secret  gold  sap  on  from  knave  to  knave. 
Once,  we  confess,  beneath  the  patriot's  cloak, 
From  the  crack' d  bag  the  dropping  guinea  spoke, 
And  jingling  down  the  back  stairs,  told  the  crew, 
'Old  Cato  is  as  great  a  rogue  as  you.* 
Bless'd  paper  credit !  last  and  best  supply ! 
That  lends  corruption  lighter  wings  to  fly!  40 

Gold,  imp'd  by  thee,  can  compass  hardest  things, 
Can  pocket  states,  can  fetch  or  carry  kings : 
A  single  leaf  shall  waft  an  army  o'er, 
Or  ship  off  senates  to  some  distant  shore: 


292          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

A  leaf  like  Sybil's,  scatter  to  and  fro 
Our  fates  and  fortunes,  as  the  wind  shall  blow  ; 
Pregnant  with  thousands  flits  the  scrap  unseen, 
And  silent  sells  a  king  or  buys  a  queen. 

Oh  !  that  such  bulky  bribes  as  all  might  see, 
Still,  as  of  old,  encumber'd  villany !  5fl 

Could  France  or  Rome  divert  our  brave  designs, 
With  all  their  brandies  or  with  all  their  wines  ? 
What  could  they  more  than  knights  and  'squires  con 
found, 

Or  water  all  the  quorum  ten  miles  round  ? 
A  statesman's  slumbers  how  this  speech  would  spoil ! 
'Sir,  Spain  has  sent  a  thousand  jars  of  oil; 
Huge  bales  of  British  cloth  blockade  the  door ; 
A  hundred  oxen  at  your  levee  roar.' 

Poor  avarice  one  torment  more  would  find  ; 
Nor  could  profusion  squander  all  in  kind.  60 

Astride  his  cheese  Sir  Morgan  might  we  meet, 
And  Worldly  crying  coals  from  street  to  street, 
Whom  with  a  wig  so  wild  and  mien  so  mazed, 
Pity  mistakes  for  some  poor  tradesman  crazed. 
Had  Colepepper's  whole  wealth  been  hops  and  hogs, 
Could  he  himself  have  sent  it  to  the  dogs? 
His  grace  will  game :  to  White's  a  bull  be  led, 
With  spurning  heels  and  with  a  butting  head  : 
To  White's  be  carried,  as  to  ancient  games, 
Fair  coursers,  vases,  and  alluring  dames.  70 

Shall  then  Uxorio,  if  the  stakes  he  sweep, 
Bear  home  six  whores,  and  make  his  lady  weep  ? 
Or  soft  Adoi.is,  so  perfumed  and  fine, 
Drive  to  St.  James's  a  whole  herd  of  swine  ? 
O  filthy  check  on  all  industrious  skill, 
To  spoil  the  nation's  last  great  trade,  quadrille  ! 
Since  then,  my  lord,  on  such  a  world  we  fall, 
What  say  you?  B.  Say?  Why,  take  it,  gold  and  all. 

P.  What  riches  cives  us,  let  us  then  inquire : 
Meat,  fire,  and  clothes.     B.  What  more  ?     P    Meat, 
clothes,  and  fire.  80 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  293 

is  this  too  little?  would  you  more  than  live? 

Alas!  'tis  more  than  Turner  finds  they  give. 

Alas !  'tis  more  than  (all  his  visions  pnss'd) 

Unhappy  Wharton,  waking,  found  at  last! 

What  can  they  give?    To  dying  Hopkins  heirs  ? 

To  Chartres  vigour?     Japhet  nose  and  ears? 

Can  they  in  gems  bid  pallid  Hippia  glow? 

In  Fulvia's  buckle  ease  the  throbs  below  ? 

Or  heal,  old  Narses,  thy  obscener  ail, 

With  all  the  embroidery  plaster'd  at  thy  tail  ?          9C 

They  might  (were  Harpax  not  too  wise  to  spend) 

Give  Harpax'  self  the  blessing  of  a  friend  ; 

Or  find  some  doctor  that  would  save  the  life 

Of  wretched  Shylock,  spice  of  Shylock's  wife. 

But  thousands  die,  without  or  this  or  that, 

Die,  and  endow  a  college  or  a  cat. 

To  some,  indeed,  Heaven  grants  the  happier  fate. 

To  enrich  a  bastard,  or  a  son  they  hate. 

Perhaps  you  think  the  poor  might  have  their  part; 
Bond  damns  the  poor,  and  hates  them  from  his  heart : 
The  grave  Sir  Gilbert  holds  it  for  a  rule,  101 

That  every  man  in  want  is  knave  or  fool : 
1  God  cannot  love,'  says  Blunt,  with  tearless  eyes, 
'The  wretch  he  starves' — and  piously  denies: 
But  the  good  Bishop,  with  a  meeker  air, 
Admits,  and  leaves  them,  Providence's  care. 

Yet,  to  be  just  to  these  poor  men  of  pelf, 
Each  does  but  hnte  his  neighbour  as  himself: 
Damn'd  to  the  mines,  an  equal  fate  betides 
The  slave  that  digs  it,  and  the  slave  that  hides.         110 

B.  Who  suffer  thus,  mere  charity  should  own, 
Must  act  on  motives  powerful,  though  unknown. 

P.  Some  war,  some  plague,  or  famine,  they  foresee, 
Some  revelation  hid  from  you  and  me. 
Why  Shylock  wants  a  meal,  the  cause  is  found; 
He  thinks  a  Loaf  will  rise  to  fifty  pound. 
What  made  directors  cheat  in  South-sea  year? 
To  live  on  venison  when  it  sold  so  clear. 


294          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Ask  you  why  Phryne  the  who!e  auction  buys  ? 
Phryne  foresees  a  general  excise.  120 

Why  she  and  Sappho  raise  that  monstrous  sum  ? 
Alas  !  they  think  a  man  will  cost  a  plum. 

Wise  Peter  sees  the  world's  respect  for  gold, 
And  therefore  hopes  this  nation  may  be  sold  : 
Glorious  ambition !  Peter,  swell  thy  store, 
And  be  what  Rome's  great  Didius  was  before 

The  crown  of  Poland,  venal  twice  an  age, 
To  just  three  millions  stinted  modest  Gago. 
But  nobler  scenes  Maria's  dreams  unfold, 
Hereditary  realms,  and  worlds  of  gold.  130 

Congenial  souls  ;  whose  life  one  avarice  joins, 
And  one  fate  buries  in  the  Asturian  mines. 

Much-injured  Blunt !  why  bears  he  Britain's  hate  7 
A  wizard  told  him  in  these  words  our  fate : 

'  At  length  corruption,  like  a  general  flood 
(So  long  by  watchful  ministers  withstood,) 
Shall  deluge  all ;  and  avarice  creeping  on, 
Spread  like  a  low-born  mist,  and  blot  the  sun  ; 
Statesman  and  patriot  ply  alike  the  stocks, 
Peeress  and  butler  share  alike  the  box,  140 

And  judges  job,  and  bishops  bite  the  town, 
And  mighty  dukes  pack  cards  for  half-a-crown. 
See  Britain  sunk  in  lucre's  sordid  charms, 
And  France  revenged  of  Anne's  and  Edward's  arms  !' 
'Twas  no  court-badge,  great  scrivener !  fired  thy  brain, 
Nor  lordly  luxury,  nor  city  gain  : 
No,  'twas  thy  righteous  end,  ashamed  to  see 
Senates  degenerate,  patriots  disagree, 
And  nobly  wishing  party-rage  to  cease, 
To  buy  both  sides,  and  give  thy  country  peace      150 

'  All  this  is  madness,'  cries  a  sober  sage  : 
But  who,  my  friend,  has  reason  in  his  rage  ? 
The  ruling  passion,  be  it  what  it  will, 
The  ruling  passion,  conquers  reason  still.' 
I/css  mad  the  wildest  whimsey  we  can  frame, 
Than  ev'n  that  passion,  if  it  has  no  aim  : 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  895 

For  though  such  motives  folly  you  may  call, 
The  folly's  greater  to  have  none  at  all. 

Hear  then  the  truth:  'Tis  Heaven  each  passion  sends 
And  different  men  directs  to  different  ends.  160 

Extremes  in  nature  equal  good  produce, 
Extremes  in  man  concur  to  general  use. 
Ask  we  what  makes  one  keep,  and  one  bestow? 
That  Power  who  bids  the  ocean  ebb  and  flow  ; 
Bids  seed-time,  harvest,  equal  course  maintain, 
Through  reconciled  extremes  of  drought  and  rain  : 
Builds  life  on  death,  on  change  duration  founds, 
And  gives  the  eternal  wheels  to  know  their  rounds 

Riches,  like  insects,  when  conceal'd  they  lie, 
Wait  but  for  wings,  arid  in  their  season  fly.  170 

Who  sees  pale  Mammon  pine  amidst  his  store, 
Sees  but  a  backward  steward  for  the  poor ; 
This  year  a  reservoir  to  keep  and  spare, 
The  next  a  fountain,  spouting  through  his  heir, 
In  lavish  streams  to  quench  a  country's  thirst, 
And  men  and  dogs  shall  drink  him  till  they  burst. 

Old  Cotta  shamed  his  fortune  and  his  birth, 
Yet  was  not  Cotta  void  of  wit  or  worth : 
What  though,  (the  use  of  barbarous  spits  forgot,) 
His  kitchen  vied  in  coolness  with  his  grot  ?  180 

His  court  with  nettles,  moats  with  cresses  stored, 
With  soups  uubought  and  salads  bless'd  his  board  ? 
[f  Cotta  lived  on  pulse,  it  was  no  more 
Than  Bramins,  saints,  and  sages  did  before  : 
To  cram  the  rich  was  prodigal  expense, 
And  who  would  take  the  poor  from  Providence  ? 
Like  some  lone  Chartreux  stands  the  good  old  hall, 
Silence  without,  and  fasts  within  the  wall ; 
No  rafter' d  roofs  with  dance  and  labour  sound, 
No  noontide  bell  invites  the  country  round  :  190 

Tenants  with  sighs  the  smokeless  towers  survey, 
And  turn  their  unwilling  steeds  another  way  : 
Benighted  wanderers,  the  forest  o'er, 
Curse  the  saved  candle  and  unopening  door  ; 


296          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

While  iJie  gaunt  mastiff,  growling  at  the  gate, 
Affrights  the  beggar  whom  he  longs  to  eat. 

Not  so  his  son  :  he  mark'd  this  oversight, 
And  then  mistook  reverse  of  wrong  for  right : 
(For  what  to  shun,  will  no  great  knowledge  need  ; 
But  what  to  follow,  is  a  task  indeed.)  201 

Yet  sure,  of  qualities  deserving  praise, 
More  go  to  ruin  fortunes,  than  to  raise. 
What  slaughter'd  hecatombs,  what  floods  of  wine, 
Fill  the  capacious  'squire,  and  deep  divine  ! 
Yet  no  mean  motive  this  profusion  draws, 
His  oxen  perish  in  his  country's  cause ; 
'Tis  George  and  liberty  that  crowns  the  cup, 
And  zeal  for  that  great  house  which  eats  him  up. 
The  woods  recede  around  the  naked  seat, 
The  Sylvans  groan — no  matter — for  the  fleet :       210 
Next  goes  his  wool — to  clothe  our  valiant  bands  : 
Last,  for  his  country's  love,  he  sells  his  lands. 
To  town  he  comes,  completes  the  nation's  hope, 
And  heads  the  bold  train-bands,  and  burns  a  pope; 
And  shall  not  Britain  now  reward  his  toils, 
Britain,  that  pays  her  patriots  with  her  spoils  ? 
In  vain  at  court  the  bankrupt  pleads  his  cause ; 
His  thankless  country  leaves  him  to  her  laws. 

The  sense  to  value  riches,  with  the  art 
To  enjoy  them,  and  the  virtue  to  impart,  220 

Not  meanly,  nor  ambitiously  pursued, 
Not  sunk  by  sloth,  nor  raised  by  servitude; 
To  balance  fortune  by  a  just  expense, 
Join  with  economy,  magnificence  ; 
With  splendour  charity,  with  plenty  health  ; 
O  teach  us,  Bathurst !  yet  unspoil'd  by  wealth ! 
That  secret  rare,  between  the  extremes  to  move 
Of  mad  good-nature,  and  of  mean  self-love. 

B.  To  worth  or  want  well-weigh'd,be  bounty  given, 
And  ease  or  emulate  the  care  of  Heaven  ;  23C 

(Whose  measure  full  o'erflows  on  human  race  ;) 
Mend  fortune's  fault,  and  justify  her  grace. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  297 

Wealth  in  the  gross  is  death,  but  life  diffused  ; 
As  poison  heals  in  just  proportion  used  : 
In  heaps,  like  ambergris,  a  stink  it  lies, 
But  well  dispersed,  is  incense  to  the  skies. 

P.  Who  starves  by  nobles,  or  with  nobles  eats  ? 
The  wretch  that  trusts  them,  and  the  rogue  that  cheats. 
Is  there  a  lord,  who  knows  a  cheerful  noon 
Without  a  fiddler,  flatterer,  or  buffoon  ?  240 

Whose  table,  wit  or  modest  merit  share, 
Unelbow'd  by  a  gamester,  pimp,  or  player  ? 
Who  copies  yours  or  Oxford's  better  part, 
To  ease  the  oppress'd  and  raise  the  sinking  heart  ? 
Where'er  he  shines,  O  Fortune,  gild  the  scene, 
And  angels  guard  him  in  the  golden  mean  ! 
There,  English  bounty  yet  awhile  may  stand, 
And  honour  linger  ere  it  leaves  the  land. 

But  all  our  praises  why  should  lords  engross  ? 
Rise,  honest  muse  !  and  sing  the  MAN  OF  Ross  :  250 
Pleased  Vaga  echoes  through  her  winding  bounds, 
And  rapid  Severn  hoarse  applause  resounds. 
Who  hung  with  woods  yon  mountain's  sultry  brow  ? 
From  the  dry  rock  who  bade  the  waters  flow  ? 
Not  to  the  skies  in  useless  columns  toss'd, 
Or  in  proud  falls  magnificently  lost, 
Bat  cleur  and  drtless  pouring  through  the  plain, 
Health  to  the  sick,  and  solace  to  the  swain. 
Whose  causeway  parts  the  vale  with  shady  rows  7 
Whose  seats  the  weary  traveller  repose  ?  260 

Who  taught  that  heaven-directed  spire  to  rise  ? 
'The  Man  of  Ross,' each  lisping  babe  replies. 
Behold  the  market-place  with  poor  o'erspread  ! 
The  Man  of  Ross  divides  the  weekly  bread  : 
He  feeds  yon  alms-house,  neat,  but  void  of  state, 
Where  age  and  want  sit  smiling  at  the  gate  : 
Him  portion'd  maids,  apprenticed  orphans  bless'd, 
The  young  who  labour,  and  the  old  who  rest. 
Is  any  sick  ?  the  Man  of  Ross  relieves, 
Prescribes,  attends,  the  medicine  makes  and  gives. 


298          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Is  there  a  variance  ?  enter  but  his  door,  271 

Balk'd  are  the  courts,  and  contest  is  no  more. 
Despairing  quacks  with  curses  fled  the  place, 
And  vile  attorneys,  now  a  useless  race. 

B.  Thrice  happy  man  !  enabled  to  pursue 
What  all  so  wish,  but  want  the  power  to  do  ! 
Say,  O  what  sums  that  generous  hand  supply  ; 
What  mines  to  swell  that  boundless  charity  ? 

P.  Of  debts  and  taxes,  wife  and  children  clear, 
This  man  possess'd — five  hundred  pounds  a  year. 
Blush,  grandeur,  blush  !  proud  courts,  withdraw  your 
Ye  little  stars  !  hide  your  diminish' d  rays.        [blaze  ! 

B.  And  what !  no  monument',  inscription,  stone  ? 
His  race,  his  form,  his  name  almost  unknown  ? 

P    Who  builds  a  church  to  God,  and  not  to  fame, 
Will  never  mark  the  marble  with  his  name  : 
Go,  search  it  there,  where  to  be  born  and  die, 
Of  rich  and  poor  makes  all  the  history  ; 
Enough  that  virtue  fill'd  the  space  between, 
Proved  by  the  ends  of  being  to  have  been.  290 

When  Hopkins  dies,  a  thousand  lights  attend 
The  wretch  who,  living,  saved  a  candle's  end  ; 
Shouldering  God's  altar  a  vile  image  stands, 
Belies  his  features,  nay,  extends  his  hands  ; 
That  live-long  wig,  which  Gorgon's  self  might  own 
Eternal  buckle  takes  in  Parian  stone. 
Behold  what  blessings  wealth  to  life  can  lend  ! 
And  see  what  comfort  it  affords  our  end. 
In  the  worst  inn's  worst  room,  with  mat  half  hung, 
The  floors  of  plaster,  and  the  walls  of  dung,         300 
On  once  a  flock-bed,  but  repair'd  with  straw, 
With  tape-tied  curtains,  never  meant  to  draw, 
The  George  and  Garter  dangling  from  that  bed, 
Where  tawdry  yellow  strove  with  dirty  red, 
Great  Villiers  lies — alas !  how  chang'd  from  him, 
That  life  of  Pleasure,  and  that  soul  of  whim ! 
Gallant  and  gny,  in  Cliveden's  proud  alcove, 
The  bower  of  wanton  Shrewsbury  and  love ; 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  299 

Or  just  as  gay  at  council,  in  a  ring 

Of  mimic  statesmen,  and  their  merry  king;  310 

No  wit  to  flatter,  left  of  all  his  store; 

No  fool  to  laugh  at,  which  he  valu'd  more , 

There,  victor  of  his  health,  of  fortune,  friends, 

And  fame,  this  lord  of  useless  thousands  ends ! 

His  Grace's  fate  sage  Cutler  could  foresee, 
And  well  (he  thought)  advis'd  him,  '  Live  like  me.' 
As  well  his  Grace  replied,  'Like you,  sir  John? 
That  I  can  do,  when  all  I  have  is  gone.' 
Resolve  me,  reason,  which  of  these  is  worse, 
Want  with  a  full  or  with  an  empty  purse?  320 

Thy  life  more  wretched,  Cutler !  was  confess'd  : 
Vrise,  and  tell  me,  was  thy  death  more  bless'd  ? 
Sutler  saw  tenants  break  and  houses  fall ; 
For  very  want  he  could  not  build  a  wall. 
His  only  daughter  in  a  stranger's  power, 
For  very  want,  he  could  not  pay  a  dower  ; 
A  few  gray  hairs  his  reverend  temples  crown'd  ; 
'Twas  very  want  that  sold  them  for  two  pound 
What !  e'en  denied  a  cordial  at  his  end, 
Banish'd  the  doctor,  and  expell'd  the  friend  ?        330 
What  but  a  want,  which  you  perhaps  think  mad, 
Vet  numbers  feel  the  want  of  what  he  had ! 
Cutler  and  Brutus  dying,  both  exclaim, 
'  Virtue  !  and  wealth  !  what  are  ye  but  a  name  !' 

Say,  for  such  worth  are  other  worlds  prepared  ? 
Or  are  they  both,  in  this,  their  own  reward  ? 
A  knotty  point  to  which  we  now  proceed, 
But  you  are  tired— I'll  tell  a  tale— B.  Agreed. 

P.  Where  London's  column,  pointing  at  the  skies 
Like  a  tall  bully,  lifts  the  head  and  lies,  340 

There  dwelt  a  citizen  of  sober  fame, 
A  plain  good  man,  and  Balaam  was  his  name ; 
Religious,  punctual,  frugal,  and  so  forth  : 
His  word  would  pass  for  more  than  he  was  worth. 
One  solid  dish  his  week-day  meal  affords, 
An  added  pudding  solemnized  the  Lord's : 


800         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Constant  at  church  and  'change ;  his  gains  were  sure 
His  givings  rare,  save  farthings  to  the  poor. 

The  Devil  was  piqued  such  saintship  to  behold, 
And  long'd  to  tempt,  him,  like  good  Job  of  old ;    350 
But  Satan  now  is  wiser  than  of  yore, 
And  tempts  by  making  rich,  not  making  poor. 

Roused  by  the  prince  of  air,  the  whirlwinds  sweep 
The  surge,  and  plunge  his  father  in  the  deep ; 
Then  full  against  his  Cornish  lands  they  roar, 
And  two  rich  shipwrecks  bless  the  lucky  shore. 

Sir  Balaam  now,  he  lives  like  other  folks, 
He  takes  his  chirping  pint,  and  cracks  his  jokes : 
'  Live  like  yourself,'  was  soon  my  lady's  word  ; 
And,  lo  !  two  puddings  smoked  upon  the  board.  360 

Asleep  and  naked  as  an  Indian  lay, 
An  honest  factor  stole  a  gem  away : 
He  pledged  it  to  the  knight ;  the  knight  had  wit, 
So  kept  the  diamond,  and  the  rogue  was  bit. 
Some  scruple  rose,  but  thus  he  eased  his  thought, 
'  I'll  now  give  sixpence  where  I  gave  a  groat ; 
Where  onco  I  went  to  church,  I'll  now  go  twice — 
And  am  so  clear  too  of  all  other  vice.' 

The  tempter  saw  his  time  :  the  work  he  plied  ; 
Stocks  and  subscriptions  pour  on  every  side,         370 
Till  all  the  demon  makes  his  full  descent 
In  one  abundant  shower  of  cent  per  cent, 
Sinks  deep  within  him,  and  possesses  whole, 
Then  dubs  director,  and  secures  his  soul. 

Behold  sir  Balaam,  now  a  man  of  spirit, 
Ascribes  his  gettings  to  his  parts  and  merit ; 
What  late  he  eall'd  a  blessing,  now  was  wit, 
And  God's  good  providence,  a  lucky  hit. 
Things  change  their  titles,  as  our  manners  turn  : 
His  compting-house  employed  the  Sunday  morn  :  380 
Seldom  at  church  ('twas  such  a  busy  life,) 
But  duly  sent  his  family  and  wife. 
There  (so  the  devil  ordain'd)  one  Christmas  tide 
My  good  old  lady  catch'd  a  cold,  and  died. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  301 

A  nymph  of  quality  admire*  our  knight, 
He  marries,  bows  at  court,  and  grows  polite  , 
Leaves  the  dull  cits,  and  joins  (to  please  the  fair) 
The  well-bred  cuckolds  in  St.  James's  air: 
First,  for  his  son,  a  gay  commission  buys, 
Who  drinks,  whores,  fights,  and  in  a  duel  dies  :       390 
His  daughter  flaunts  a  viscount's  tawdry  wife ; 
She  bears  a  coronet  and  p — x  for  life. 
In  Britain's  senate  he  a  seat  obtains, 
And  one  more  pensioner  St.  Stephen  gains. 
My  lady  falls  to  play :  so  bad  her  chance, 
He  must  repair  it;  takes  a  bribe  from  France  ; 
The  house  impeach  him,  Coningsby  harangues; 
The  court  forsake  him,  and  sir  Balaam  hangs : 
Wife,  son,  and  daughter,  Satan !  are  thy  own  ; 
His  wealth,  yet  dearer,  forfeit  to  the  crown  :          400 
The  devil  and  the  king  divide  the  prize, 
And  sad  sir  Balaam  curses  God,  and  dies. 


EPISTLE  IV. 

TO  RICHARD  BOYLE,  EARL  OF 
BURLINGTON. 


ARGUMENT. 
Of  the.  Use  of  Riches. 

The  vanity  of  expense  in  people  of  wealth  and  quality. 
The  abuse  of  the  word  Taste,  ver.  13.  That  the  first 
principle  and  foundation  in  this,  as  in  every  thing 
else,  is  good  sense,  ver.  40.  The  chief  proof  of  it  is  to 
follow  nature,  even  in  w./rks  of  more  luxury  and 
elegance.  Instanced  in  architecture  and  gardening 
where  all  must  be  adapted  to  the  genius  and  use  of 
the  place,  and  the  beauties  not  forced  into  it,  but  re 
sulting  from  it,  ver.  50.  How  men  are  disappointed 
in  their  most  expensive  undertakings,  for  want  of 
this  true  foundation,  without  which  nothing  can  please 


302          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

long,  if  at  all ;  and  the  best  examples  and  rules  will  be 
but  perverted  into  something  burthensome  and  ridi 
culous,  ver.  65  to  90.  A  description  of  the  false,  taste 
of  magnificence  ;  the  first  grand  error  of  which  is,  to 
imagine  that  greatness  consists  in  the  size  and  dimen 
sion,  instead  of  the  proportion  and  harmony  of  the 
whole,  ver.  97,  and  the  second  either  in  joining  to 
gether  parts  incoherent,  or  too  minutely  resembling 
or  in  tho  repetition  of  the  same  too  frequently,  ver. 
105,  &c.  A  word  or  two  of  false  taste  in  books 
music,  in  painting,  even  in  preaching  and  prayer,  and 
lastly  in  entertainments,  ver.  133,  &c.  Yet  Providence 
is  justified  in  giving  wealth  to  be  squandered  in  this 
manner,  since  it  is  dispersed  to  the  poor  and  laborious 
part  of  mankind,  ver.  109.  [recurring  to  what  is  laid 
down  in  the  first  book,  Ep.  ii.  and  in  the  Epistle  pre 
ceding  this,  ver.  159,  &c.]  What  are  the  proper  objects 
of  magnificence,  and  a  proper  fu-ld  for  the  expense  of 
great  men,  ver.  177,  &c.  And  finally  the  great  and 
public  works  which  become  a  prince,  ver.  191,  to  the 
end. 


The  extremes  of  avarice  and  profusion  being  treat 
ed  of  in  the  foregoing  Epistle,  this  takes  up  one  par 
ticular  branch  of  the  latter,  the  vanity  of  expense  in 
people  of  wealth  and  quality ;  and  is,  therefore,  a 
corollary  to  the  preceding,  just  as  tho  Epistle  on  the 
Characters  of  Women  is  to  that  of  the  Knowledge 
and  Characters  of  Men.  It  is  equally  remarkable  for 
exactness  of  method  with  the  rest.  But  the  nature 
of  the  subject,  which  is  less  philosophical,  makes  ii 
capable  of  being  analysed  in  a  much  narrower  com 
pass. 


'Tis  strange,  the  miser  should  his  cares  employ 
To  gain  those  riches  he  can  ne'er  enjoy : 
Is  it  less  strange,  the  prodigal  should  waste 
His  wealth,  to  purchase  what  he  ne'er  can  taste  / 
Not  for  himself  he  sees,  or  hears,  or  eats  ; 
Artists  must  choose  his  pictures,  music,  meats  : 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  303 

He  buys  for  Topham  drawings  and  designs  ; 
For  Pembroke  statues,  dirty  gods,  and  coins  ; 
Rare  monkish  manuscripts  for  Hearne  alone  ; 
And  books  for  Mead,  and  butterflies  for  Sloane  •      10 
Think  we  all  these  are  for  himself?  no  more 
Than  his  fine  wife,  alas  !  or  finer  whore. 

For  what  lias  Virro  painted,  built,  and  planted  ? 
Only  to  show  how  many  tastes  he  wanted. 
What  brought  sir  Visto's  ill-got  wealth  to  waste  ? 
Some  demon  whisper'd  '  Visto  !  have  a  taste.' 
Heaven  visits  with  a  taste  the  wealthy  fool, 
And  needs  no  rod  but  Ripley  with  a  rule. 
See  !  sportive  fate,  to  punish  awkward  pride, 
Bids  Bubo  build,  and  sends  him  such  a  guide :        20 
A  standing  sermon  at  each  year's  expense, 
That  never  coxcomb  reach'd  magnificence. 

You  show  us  Rome  was  glorious,  not  profuse, 
And  pompous  buildings  once>  were  things  of  use ; 
Yet.  shall,  my  lord,  your  just,  your  noble  rules 
Fill  half  the  land  with  imitating  fools  ; 
Whose  random  drawings  from  your  sheets  shall  take, 
And  of  one  beauty,  many  blunders  make ; 
Load  some  vain  church  with  old  theatric  state, 
Turn  arcs  of  Triumph  to  a  garden  gate ;  30 

Reverse  your  ornaments,  and  hang  them  all 
On  some  patch'd  dog-hole  eked  with  ends  of  wall; 
Then  clap  four  slices  of  pilaster  on  't, 
That  laced  with  bits  of  rustic  makes  a  front; 
Shall  call  the  winds  through  long  arcades  to  roar, 
Proud  to  catch  cold  at  a  Venetian  door : 
Conscious  they  act  a  true  Palladian  part, 
And  if  they  starve,  they  starve  by  rules  of  art. 

Oft  have  you  hinted  to  your  brother  peer,  . 
A  certain  truth  which  many  buy  too  dear;  40 

Something  there  is  more  needful  than  expense, 
And  something  previous  e'en  to  taste — 'tis  sense, 
Good  sense,  which  only  is  the  gift  of  Heaven, 
And,  though  no  science,  fairly  worth  the  seven  : 


304          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

A  light  which  in  yourself  you  must  perceive  ; 
Jones  and  Le  Notre  have  it  not  to  give. 

To  build,  to  plant,  whatever  you  intend, 
To  rear  the  column,  or  the  arch  to  bend, 
To  swell  the  terrace,  or  to  sink  the  grot, 
In  all,  let  Nature  never  be  forgot :  90 

But  treat  the  goddess  like  a  modest  fair, 
Nor  over-dress,  nor  leave  her  wholly  bare  ; 
Let  not  each  beauty  every  where  be  spied, 
Where  half  the  skill  is  decently  to  hide. 
He  gains  all  points,  who  pleasingly  confounds, 
Surprises,  varies,  and  conceals  the  bounds. 

Consult  the  genius  of  the  place  in  all : 
That  tells  the  waters  or  to  rise  or  fall ; 
Or  helps  the  ambitious  hill  the  heavens  to  scale, 
Or  scoops  in  circling  theatres  the  vale ;  60 

Calls  in  the  country,  catches  opening  glades, 
Joins  willing  woods,  and  varies  shades  from  shades  i 
Now  breaks,  or  now  directs,  the  intending  lines, 
Prints  as  you  paint,  and  as  you  work  designs. 

Still  follow  sense,  of  every  art  the  soul : 
Parts  answering  parts  shall  slide  into  a  whole, 
Spontaneous  beauties  all  around  advance, 
,  Start  e'en  from  difficulty,  strike  from  chance  : 
Nature  shall  join  you  ;  time  shall  make  it  grow 
A  work  to  wonder  at— perhaps  a  Stow.  70 

Without  it,  proud  Versailles!  thy  g'.ory  falls  ; 
And  Nero's  terraces  desert  their  walls  ; 
The  vast  parterres  a  thousand  hands  shall  make, 
Lo  !  Cobham  comes,  and  floats  them  with  a  lake : 
Or  cuts  wide  views  through  mountains  to  the  plain, 
You  '11  wish  your  hill  or  shelter'd  seat  again. 
E'en  in  an  ornament  its  place  remark, 
Nor  in  a  hermitage  set  Dr.  Clarke. 
Behold  Villario's  ten  years'  toil  complete, 
His  quincunx  darkens,  his  espaliers  meet ;  80 

The  wood  supports  the  plain,  the  parts  unite, 
And  strength  of  shade  contends  with  strength  of  light  j 


MORAL  ESSAYS. 


305 


A  waving  gloom  the  bloomy  beds  display, 
Blushing  in  bright  diversities  of  day, 
With  silver-quivering  rills  meander'd  o'er— 
Enjoy  them,  you  !  Villario  can  no  more  : 
Tired  of  the  scene  parterres  and  fountains  yield, 
He  finds  at  last  he  better  likes  a  field. 

Through  his  young  woods  how  pleased  Sabinua 
Or  sat  delighted  in  the  thickening  shade,        [stray'd, 
With  annual  joy  the  reddening  shoots  to  greet, 
Or  see  the  stretching  branches  long  to  meet ! 
His  son's  fine  taste  an  opener  vista  loves, 
Foe  to  the  Dryads  of  his  father's  groves  ! 
One  boundless  green,  or  flourish'd  carpet  views, 
With  all  the  mournful  family  of  yews  : 
The  thriving  plants  ignoble  broomsticks  made, 
Now  sweep  those  alleys  they  were  born  to  shade. 

At  Timon's  villa  let  us  pass  a  day,  99 

Where  all  cries  out, '  What  sums  are  thrown  away !' 
So  proud,  so  grand  ;  of  that  stupendous  air, 
Soft  and  agreeable  come  never  there. 
Greatness,  with  Timon,  dwells  in  such  a  drought 
As  brings  all  Brobdignag  before  your  thought. 
To  compass  this,  his  building  is  a  town, 
His  pond  an  ocean,  his  parterre  a  down: 
Who  but  must  laugh,  the  master  when  he  sees, 
A  puny  insect,  shivering  at  a  breeze  ! 
Lo,  what  huge  heaps  of  littleness  around  ! 
The  whole  a  labour'd  quarry  above  ground.  110 

Two  Cupids  squirt  before  ;  a  lake  behind 
Improves  the  keenness  of  the  northern  wind. 
His  gardens  next  your  admiration  call, 
On  every  side  you  look,  behold  the  wall ! 
No  pleasing  intricacies  intervene, 
No  artful  wildness  to  perplex  the  scene : 
Grove  nods  at  grove,  each  alley  has  a  brother, 
And  half  the  platform  just  reflects  the  other. 
The  suffering  eye  inverted  nature  sees, 
Trees  cut  to  statues,  statues  thick  as  trees ;  120 

20 


30*          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Wii        ?re  a  fountain  never  to  be  play'd, 
\R-       src  a  summer-house  that  knows  no  shade  ; 
'lo^  Amphitrite  sails  through  myrtle  bowers ; 
fb«k-e  gladiators  fight,  or  die  in  flowers ; 
Jnwater'd  see  the  drooping  sea-horse  mourn, 
ind  swallows  roost  in  Nilus'  dusty  urn. 

My  lord  advances  with  majestic  mien, 
Smit  with  the  mighty  pleasure  to  be  seen  : 
But  soft — by  regular  approach — not  yet — 
First  through  tho  length  of  yon  hot  terrace  sweat !  130 
And  when  up  ten  steep  slopes  you  've  dragged  your 
Just  at  his  study  door  he'll  bless  your  eyes,     [thighs, 

His  study !  with  what  authors  is  it  stored  ? 
In  books,  not  authors,  curious  is  my  lord  ; 
To  all  their  dated  backs  he  turns  you  round ; 
These  Aldus  printed,  those  Du  Sueil  has  bound! 
Lo,  some  are  vellum,  and  the  rest  as  good, 
For  all  his  lordship  knows,  but  they  are  wood ! 
For  Locke  or  Milton,  'tis  in  vain  to  look  : 
These  shelves  admit  not  any  modern  book.  140 

And  now  the  chapel's  silver  bell  you  hear, 
That  summons  you  to  all  the  pride  of  prayer  : 
Light  quirks  of  music,  broken  and  uneven, 
Make  the  soul  dance  upon  a  jig  to  heaven. 
On  painted  ceilings  you  devoutly  stare, 
Where  sprawl  the  saints  of  Verrio  or  Laguerre. 
Or  gilded  clouds  in  fair  expansion  lie, 
And  bring  all  Paradise  before  your  eye. 
To  rest,  the  cushion  and  soft  dean  invite, 
Who  never  mentions  hell  to  ears  polite.  138 

But,  hark  !  the  chiming  clocks  to  dinner  call 
A  hundred  footsteps  scrape  the  marble  hall : 
The  rich  buffet  well-colour'd  serpents  grace, 
And  gaping  Tritons  spew  to  wash  your  face. 
Is  this  a  dinner  ?  this  a  genial  room  ? 
No,  'tis  a  temple,  and  a  hecatomb. 
A  solemn  sacrifice  perform'd  in  state  : 
You  drink  by  measure,  and  to  minutes  eat 


MORAL  ESSAYS. 


307 


So  quick  requires  each  flying  course,  you  *d  swear 
Sancho's  dead  doctor  and  his  wand  were  there.     160 
Between  eacli  act  the  trembling  salvers  ring, 
From  soup  to  sweet  wine,  and  God  bless  the  king. 
In  plenty  starving,  tantalised  in  state, 
And  complaisantly  help'd  to  all  I  hate, 
Treated,  caress'd,  and  tired,  1  take  my  leave, 
Sick  of  his  civil  pride  from  morn  to  eve  ; 
I  curse  such  lavish  cost  and  little  skill, 
And  swear  no  day  was  ever  pass'd  so  ill. 

Yet  hence  the  poor  are  clothed,  the  hungry  fed  ; 
Health  to  himself,  and  to  hi-s  infants  bread,  170 

The  labourer  bears  :  what  his  hard  heart  denies, 
His  charitable  vanity  supplies. 

Another  age  shall  see  the  golden  ear 
Imbrown  the  slope,  and  nod  on  the  parterre, 
Deep  harvests  bury  all  his  pride  has  plann'd, 
And  laughing  Ceres  re-assume  the  land. 

Who  then  shall  grace,  or  who  improve  the  soil  ? 
Who  plants  like  Bathurst,  or  who  builds  like  Boyle. 
"Tis  use  alone  that  sanctifies  expense, 
And  splendour  borrows  all  her  rays  from  sense.    188 

His  father's  acres  who  enjoys  in  peace, 
Or  makes  his  neighbours  glad  if  he  increase  : 
Whose  cheerful  tenants  bless  their  yearly  toil, 
Yet  to  their  lord  owe  more  than  to  the  soil ; 
Whose  ample  lawns  are  not  ashamed  to  feed 
The  milky  heifer  and  deserving  steed  ; 
Whose  rising  forests,  not  for.  pride  or  show, 
But  future  buildings,  future  navies,  grow  : 
Let  his  plantations  stretch  from  down  to  down, 
First  shade  a  country,  and  then  raise  a  town.          19(1 

You,  too,  proceed  !  make  falling  arts  your  care, 
Erect  new  wonders,  and  the  old  repair  ; 
Jones  and  Palladio  to  themselves  restore, 
And  be  whate'er  Vitruvius  was  before  : 
Till  kings  call  forth  the  idea  of  your  mind, 
Proud  to  accomplish  what  such  hands  design'd ;) 


308 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Bid  harbours  open,  public  ways  extend, 
Bid  temples  worthier  of  the  God  ascend  ; 
Bid  the  broad  arch  the  dangerous  flood  contain, 
The  mole  projected  break  the  roaring  main  ; 
Back  to  his  bounds  their  subject  sea  command, 
And  roll  obedient  rivers  through  the  land: 
These  honours  peace  to  happy  Britain  brings  ; 
These  are  imperial  works,  and  worthy  kings 


200 


EPISTLE  V. 
TO  MR.  ADDIS  ON. 

Occasioned  by  his  Dialogues  on  Medals. 


This  was  originally  written  in  the  year  1715,  when 
Mr.  Addison  intended  to  publish  his  book  of  medals; 
it  was  some  time  before  he  was  secretary  of  state ; 
but  not  published  till  Mr.  Tickell's  edition  of  hia 
works ;  at  which  time  his  verses  on  Mr.  Craggs, 
which  conclude  the  poem,  were  added,  viz.  in  1720. 

As  the  third  Epistle  treated  of  the  extremes  of 
avarice  and  profusion  ;  and  the  fourth  took  up  one 
particular  branch  of  the  latter,  namely,  the  vanity  of 
expense  in  people  of  wealth  and  quality,  and  was 
therefore  a  corollary  to  the  third ;  so  this  treats  of 
one  circumstance  of  that  vanity,  as  it  appears  in  tin 
common  collectors  of  old  coin;  and  is,  therefore, 
coiollary  to  the  fourth. 


SEE  the  wild  waste  of  all-devouring  years  ! 
How  Rome  her  own  sad  sepulchre  appears  ! 
With  nodding  arches,  broken  temples  spread  ! 
Thfi  very  tombs  now  vanish'd  like  their  dead ! 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  309 

fmperia*  wonders  raised  on  nations  spoil'd, 
Where  mix'd  with  slaves  the  groaning  martyr  toil'd 
Huge  theatres,  that  now  unpeopled  tvoods, 
Now  drain'd  a  distant  country  of  her  floods  . 
Fanes,  which  admiring  gods  with  pride  survey  ; 
Statues  of  men,  scarce  less  alive  than  they  !  .0 

Some  felt  the  silent  siroKe  01  mouldering  age, 
Some  hostile  fury,  some  religious  rage  : 
Barbarian  blindness,  Christian  zeal  conspire, 
And  papai  piety,  and  Gothic  fire. 
Perhaps  by  its  own  ruins  saved  from  flame, 
Some  buried  marble  half  preserves  a  name; 
That  name  the  learn'd  with  fierce  dispute  pursue, 
And  give  to  Titus  old  Vespasian's  due. 

Ambition  sigli'd  ;  she  found  in  vain  to  trust 
The  faithless  column  and  the  crumbling  bust ;        20 
Huge  moles,  whose  shadow  stretch'd  from  shore  to 

shore, 

Their  ruins  perish'd,  and  their  place  no  more ! 
Convinced,  she  now  contracts  her  vast  design, 
And  all  her  triumphs  shrink  into  a  coin. 
A  narrow  orb  each  crowded  conquest  keeps, 
Beneath  her  palm  here  sad  Judea  weeps, 
Now  scantier  limits  the  proud  arch  confine, 
And  scarce  are  seen  the  prostrate  Nile  or  Rhine  j 
A  small  Euphrates  through  the  piece  is  roll'd, 
And  little  eagles  wave  their  wings  in  gold.  30 

The  medal  faithful  to  its  charge  of  fame, 
Through   climes   and    ages   oears   each    form    ana 

name : 

In  one  short  view  subjected  to  our  eye, 
Gods,  emperors,  heroes,  sages,  beauties,  lie. 
With  sharpon'd  sight  pa.e  antiquaries  pore, 
The  inscription  value,  but  the  rust  adore. 
This  the  blue  varnish,  that  the  green  endears, 
The  sacred  rust  of  twice  ten  hundred  years  ! 
To  gain  Pescennius  one  employs  his  schemes, 
One  grasps  a  Cecrops  in  ecstatic  dreams.  40 


310         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Poor  Vadius,  long  with  learned  spleen  devour'd, 
Can  taste  no  pleasure  since  his  shield  was  scour'd  . 
And  Curio,  restless  by  the  fair  one's  side, 
Sighs  for  an  Otho,  and  neglects  his  bride. 

Theirs  is  the  vanity,  the  learning  thine  : 
Touch'd  by  thy  hand,  again  Rome's  glories  shine  ; 
Her  gods  and  godlike  heroes  rise  to  view, 
And  all  her  faded  garlands  bloom  anew. 
Nor  blush  these  studies  thy  regard  engage  : 
These  pleased  the  fathers  of  poetic  rage  :  5*< 

The  verse  and  sculpture  bore  an  equal  part, 
And  art  reflected  images  to  art. 

Oh,  when  shall  Britain,  conscious  of  her  claim. 
Stand  emulous  of  Greek  and  Roman  fame? 
In  living  medals  see  her  wars  enroll'd, 
And  vanquish'd  realms  supply  recording  gold  ' 
Here,  rising  bold,  the  patriot's  honest  face  ; 
There,  warriors  frowning  in  historic  brass  : 
Then  future  ages  with  delight  shall  see 
How  Plato's,  Bacon's,  Newton's  looks  agree ;        60 
Or  in  fair  series  laurell'd  bards  be  shown, 
A  Virgil  tlie're,  and  here  an  Addison. 
Then  shall  thy  Craggs  (and  let  me  call  him  mine) 
On  the  cast  ore,  another  Pollio,  shine  ; 
With  aspect  open  shall  erect  his  head, 
And  round  the  orb  in  lasting  notes  be  read, — 
Statesman,  yet  friend  to  truth  !  of  soul  sincere, 
In  action  faithful,  and  in  honour  clear; 
Who  broke  no  promise,  served  no  private  end, 
Who  gain'd  no  title,  and  who  lost  no  friend  : 
Ennobled  by  himself,  by  all  approved, 
A.nd  praised,  unenvied,  by  the  muse  he  loved  ' 


END  OF  VOL.  1 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


ALEXANDER  POPE, 


.TO    WHICH    IS    PREFIXED 


A  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


TWO   VOLS.  IN   ONE 


BOSTON 

PHILLIPS,    SAMPSGX,    &   CO, 

110  Washington  Street. 

1849. 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  II. 


PRO  LOG  ui  to  the  Satires       -       -  Page      3 

Satires  and  Epistles  of  Horace,  Imitated  -  •  17 
The  Satires  of  Dr.  John  Donne,  versified  -  59 
Epilogue  to  the  Satire  -  -  -  -  -  79 
Imitations  of  Horace  •  ...  91 

Miscellanies  ......    98 

Epitaphs  127 

The  Dunciad     ....  .135 


THE 

POETICAL.    WORKS 

OF 

ALEXANDER  POPE. 


EPISTLE  TO  DR.  ARBUTHNOT 

BEING 
THE  PROLOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES. 


ADVERTISEMENT 
To  the  first  Publication  of  this  Epistle. 

fhis  paper  is  a  sort  of  bill  of  complaint,  begun  many 
years  since,  and  drawn  up  hy  snatches,  as  the  several 
occasions  offered.  I  had  no  thoughts  of  publishing  it, 
till  it  pleased  some  persons  of  rank  and  fortune,  [the 
authors  of  Verses  to  the  imitator  of  Horace,  and  of  an 
Epistle  to  a  Doctor  of  Divinity  from  a  Nobleman  at 
Hampton  Court]  to  attack,  in  a  very  extraordinary 
manner,  not  only  my  writings  (of  which,  being  public, 
the  public  is  judge)  but  my  person,  morals,  and  family; 
whereof,  to  those  who  know  me  not,  a  truer  informa 
tion  may  be  requisite.  Being  divided  between  the 
necessity  to  say  something  of  myself,  and  my  own  lazi 
ness  to  undertake  so  awkward  a  task,  I  thought  it  the 
shortest  way  to  put  the  last  hand  to  this  Epistle.  If  it 
have  any  thing  pleasing,  it  will  be  that  by  which  I  am 
most  desirous  to  please,  the  truth  and  the  sentiment ; 
and  if  any  thing  offensive,  it  will  be  only  to  those  I  am 
least  sorry  to  offend,  the  vicious  or  the  ungenerous. 

Many  will  know  their  own  pictures  in  it,  there  being 
not  a  circumstance  but  what  is  true;  but  I  have,  for 
the  most  part,  spared  their  names ;  and  they  may 
escape  being  laughed  at,  if  they  please. 


6  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

(  would  have  some  of  them  to  know,  it  was  owing  to  thp 
request  of  the  learned  and  candid  friend  to  whom  it  ia 
inscribed,  that  I  make  not  as  free  use  of  theirs  as  Iliey 
have  done  of  mine.  However,  1  shall  have  this  ail  van 
tage  and  honour  on  my  side,  that  whereas,  by  their 
proceeding,  any  abuse  may  be  directed  at  any  man,  no 
injury  can  possibly  be  done  by  mine ;  since  a  nameless 
character  can  never  be  found  out  but  by  its  truth  and 
likeness. 


P.  '  SHUT,  shut  the  door,  good  John,'  fatigued,  I 

said, 

Tie  up  the  knocker,  say  I'm  sick,  I'm  dead.' 
The  dog-star  rages  !  nay,  'tis  past  a  doubt, 
All  Bedlam,  or  Parnassus,  is  let  out : 
Fire  in  each  eye,  and  papers  in  each  hand, 
They  rave,  recite,  and  madden  round  the  land. 

What  walls  can  guard  me,  or  what  shades  can  hide  ? 
They  pierce  my  thickets,  through  my  grot  they  glide  ; 
By  land,  by  water,  they  renew  the  charge ; 
They  stop  the  chariot,  and  they  board  the  barge. 
IVo  place  is  sacred,  not  the  church  is  free, 
E'en  Sunday  shines  no  sabbath-day  to  me  ; 
Then  from  the  Mint  walks  forth  the  man  of  rhyme, 
Happy  to  catch  me  ! — just  at  dinner  time. 

Is  there  a  parson,  much  bemused  in  beer, 
A  maudlin  poetess,  a  rhyming  peer, 
A  clerk  foredoom'd  his  father's  soul  to  cross, 
Who  pens  a  stanza  when  he  should  engross  ; 
Is  there  who,  lock'd  from  ink  and  paper,  scrawls 
With  desperate  charcoal  round  his  darken'd  walls  | 
All  fly  to  Twit'nam,  and  in  humble  strain 
Apply  to  me,  to  keep  them  mad  or  vain. 
Arthur,  whose  giddy  son  neglects  the  laws, 
Imputes  to  me  and  my  damn'd  works  the  cause : 
Poor  Cornus  sees  his  frantic  wife  elope, 
And  curses  wit,  and  poetry,  and  Pope. 

Friend  to  my  life  !  (which  did  not  you  prolong, 
The  world  had  wanted  manv  an  idle  song) 


PROLOGUE  TO  THE  SATiRES.          1 

What  drop  or  nostrum  can  this  plague  remove? 

Or  which  must  end  me,  a  fool's  wrath  or  love  ? 

A  dire  dilemma  !  either  way  I'm  sped  ; 

If  foes,  they  write  ;  if  friends,  they  read  me  dead. 

Seized  and  tied  down  to  judge,  how  wretched  I ! 

Who  can't  be  silent,  and  who  will  not  lie : 

To  laugh,  were  want  of  goodness  and  of  grace ; 

And  to  be  grave,  exceeds  all  power  of  face. 

1  sit  with  sad  civility ;  I  read 

VVith  honest  anguish,  and  an  aching  head  ; 

And  drop  at  last,  but  in  unwilling  ears, 

This  saving  counsel. '  Keep  your  piece  nine  years. 

'  Nine  years  !'  cries  he,  who,  high  in  Drury-lane, 
Lull'd  by  soft  zephyrs  through  the  broken  pane, 
Rhymes  ere  he  wakes,  and  prints  before  term  ends 
Obliged  by  hunger  and  request  of  friends: 
'  The  piece,  you  think,  is  incorrect :  why  take  it ; 
I'm  all  submission  ;  what  you'd  have  it  make  it.' 

Three  things  another's  modest  wishes  bound, 
My  friendship,  and  a  prologue,  arid  ten  pound. 

Pitholeon  sends  to  me  ;  '  You  know  his  grace  ; 
I  want  a  patron ;  ask  him  for  a  place.' 
Pitholeon  libell'd  me — '  but  here's  a  letter 
Informs  you,  sir,  'twas  when  he  knew  no  better. 
Dare  you  refuse  him  Curll  invites  to  dine  ? 
He'll  write  a  journal,  or  he'll  turn  divine.' 

Bless  me  !  a  packet. — "Tis  a  stranger  sues: 
A  virgin  tragedy,  an  orphan  muse.' 
If  I  dislike  it,  '  Furies,  death,  and  rage  !' 
If  I  approve,  'Commend  it  to  the  stage.' 
There  (thank  my  stars)  my  whole  commission  ends, 
The  players  and  I  are,  luckily,  no  friends. 
Fired  that  the  house  reject  him,  '  'Sdeath !  I'll  print  fy 
And  shame  the  fools — your  interest,  sir,  with  Lintot. 
'  Lintot,  dull  rogue  !  will  think  your  price  too  much  : 
'  Not,  sir,  if  you  revise  it,  and  retouch.' 
All  my  demurs  but  double  his  attacks  : 
At  last  he  whispers, '  Do  ;  and  we  go  snacks  ' 


8  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Glad  of  a  quarrel,  straight  I  clap  the  door, 

'  Sir,  let  me  see  your  works  and  you  no  more." 

'Tis  sung,  when  Midas'  ears  began  to  spring, 
(Midas,  a  sacred  person  and  a  king,) 
His  very  minister,  who  spied  them  first, 
(Some  say  his  queen,)   was  forced  to    speak,  or 

burst. 

And  is  not  mine,  my  friend,  a  sorer  case, 
When  every  coxcomb  perks  them  in  my  face  ? 

A.  Good  friend,  forbear !  you  deal  in  dangeroua 

things, 

I'd  never  name  queens,  ministers,  or  kings ; 
Keep  close  to  ears,  and  those  let  asses  prick, 
'Tis  nothing — P.  Nothing?  if  they  bite  and  kick  ? 
Out  with  it,  Dunciad  !  let  the  secret  pass, 
That  secret  to  each  fool,  that  he's  an  ass  : 
The  truth  once  told  (and  wherefore  should  we  lie  ?) 
The  queen  of  Midas  slept,  and  so  may  I. 

You  think  this  cruel :  take  it  for  a  rule, 
No  creature  smarts  so  little  as  a  fool. 
Let  peals  of  laughter,  Codrus  !  round  thee  break, 
Thou  unconcern'd  canst  hear  the  mighty  crack : 
Pit,  box,  and  gallery,  in  convulsions  hurl I'd, 
Thou  stand's!  unshook  amidst  a  bursting  world. 
Who  shames  a  scribbler  ?  Break  one  cobweb  through 
He  spins  the  slight,  self-pleasing  thread  anew  : 
Destroy  his  fib  or  sophistry,  in  vain, 
The  creature's  at  his  dirty  work  again, 
Throned  on  the  centre   of  his  thin  designs, 
Proud  of  a  vast  extent  of  flimsy  lines  : 
Whom  have  I  hurt  ?  has  poet  yet,  or  peer, 
Lost  the  arch'd  eyebrow,  or  Parnassian  sneer? 
And  has  not  Colly  still  his  lord  and  whore  ? 
His  butchers  Henly  ?  his  free-masons  Moore? 
Does  not  one  table  Bavius  still  admit  ? 
Still  to  one  bishop  Phillips  seem  a  wit  ? 
Still  Sappho — A.  Hold;  for  God's  sake— you'll  offend, 
No  names — be  calm — learn  prudence  of  a  friend: 


PROLOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES. 

[  too  could  write,  and  I  am  twice  as  tall ; 

But  foes  like  these — P.  One  flatterer's  worse  than  all 

Of  all  mad  creatures,  if  the  learn'd  are  right, 

It  is  the  slaver  kills,  and  not  the  bite. 

A  fool  quite  angry  is  quite  innocent : 

Alas !  'tis  ten  times  worse  when  they  repent. 

One  dedicates  in  high  heroic  prose, 
And  ridicules  beyond  a  hundred  foes  : 
One  from  all  Grub  street  will  my  fame  defend. 
And,  more  abusive,  calls  himself  my  friend. 
This  prints  my  letters,  that  expects  a  bribe, 
And  others  roar  aloud  '  Subscribe,  subscribe!' 

There  are,  who  to  my  person  pay  their  court- 
I  cough  like  Horace,  and,  though  lean,  am  short. 
Ammon's  great  son  one  shoulder  had  too  high. 
Such  Ovid's  nose,  and,  '  Sir !  you  have  an  eye — 
Go  on,  obliging  creatures,  make  me  see 
All  that  disgraced  my  betters  met  in  me. 
Say  for  my  comfort,  languishing  in  bed, 
Just  so  immortal  Maro  held  his  head ;' 
And  when  I  die,  be  sure  you  let  me  know 
Great  Homer  died  three  thousand  years  ago. 

Why  did  I  write  ?  what  sin  to  me  unknown 
Dipp'd  me  in  ink — my  parents'  or  my  own  ? 
As  yet  a  child,  nor  yet  a  fool  to  fame, 
[  lisp'd  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came  ; 
I  left  no  calling  for  this  idle  trade, 
No  duty  broke,  no  father  disobey'd  : 
The  muse  but  served  to  ease  some  friend,  not  wife, 
To  help  me  through  this  long  disease,  my  life 
To  second,  Arbuthnot !  thy  art  and  care, 
And  teach  the  being  you  preserved  to  bear. 

But  why  then  publish  ?  Granvilie  the  polite, 
And  knowing  Walsh,  would  tell  me  I  could  write; 
Well-natured  Garth  inflamed  with  early  praise, 
And  Congreve  loved,  and  Swift  endured,  my  lays, 
The  courtly  Talbot,  Somers,  Sheffield  read, 
E'en  mitred  Rochester  would  nod  the  head, 
VOL.  II.  2 


10  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

And  St.  John's  self  (great  Dryden's  friend  before) 
With  open  arms  received  one  poet  more. 
Happy  my  studies,  when  by  these  approved  ! 
Happier  their  author,  when  by  these  beloved  ! 
From  these  the  world  will  judge  of  men  and  books, 
Not  from  the  Burnets,  Oldmixons,  and  Cooks. 

Soft  were  my  numbers  :  who  could  take  offence 
While  pure  description  held  the  place  of  sense  ? 
Like  gentle  Fanny's  was  my  flowery  theme, 
'  A  painted  mistress,  or  a  purling  stream." 
Yet  then  did  Gildon  draw  his  venal  quill ; 
I  wish'd  the  man  a  dinner,  and  sat  still: 
Yet  then  did  Dennis  rave  in  furious  fret ; 
I  never  answer'd  ;  I  was  not  in  debt ; 
If  want  provoked,  or  madness  made  them  print, 
I  waged  no  war  with  Bedlam  or  the  Mint. 

Did  some  more  sober  critic  come  abroad? 
If  wrong,  I  smiled  ;  if  right,  I  kiss'd  the  rod : 
Pains,  reading,  study,  are  their  just  pretence, 
And  all  they  want  is  spirit,  taste,  and  sense. 
Commas  and  points  they  set  exactly  right, 
And  'twere  a  sin  to  rob  them  of  their  mite. 
Yet  ne'er  one  sprig  of  laurel  graced  these  ribalds, 
From  slashing  Bently  down  to  piddling  Tibbalds : 
Each  wight,  who  reads  not,  and  but  scans  and  spells 
Each  word-catcher,  that  lives  on  syllables, 
E'en  such  small  critics  some  regard  may  claim, 
Preserved  in  Milton's  or  in  Shakspeare's  name. 
Pretty  !  in  amber  to  observe  the  forms 
Of  hairs,  or  straws,  or  dirt,  or  grubs,  or  worms  ! 
The  things  we  know  are  neither  rich  nor  rare, 
But  wonder  how  the  devil  they  got  there. 

Were  others  angry  ?  I  excused  them  too ; 
Well  might  they  rage  :  I  gave  them  but  their  due 
A  man's  true  merit  'tis  not  hard  to  find  ; 
Out  each  man's  secret  standard  in  his  mind, 
That  casting-weight  pride  adds  to  emptiness 
This,  who  can  gratify  ?  for  who  can  guess  ? 


PROLOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.         11 

The  bard  whom  pilfer'd  pastorals  renown, 

Who  turns  a  Persian  tale  for  Haifa  crown ; 

Just  writes  to  make  his  barrenness  appear, 

And  strains  from  hard-bound  brains  eight  lines  ayear 

He  who,  still  wanting,  though  he  lives  on  theft, 

Steals  much,  spends  little,  yet  has  nothing  left : 

And  he,  who,  now  to  sense,  now  nonsense  leaning, 

Means  nor,  but  blunders  round  about  a  meaning; 

\nd  he,  whose  fustian's  so  sublimely  bad, 

It  is  not  poetry,  but  prose  run  mad : 

All  these  my  modest  satire  bade  translate, 

And  own'd  that  nine  such  poets  made  a  Tate. 

How  did  they  fume,  and  stamp,  and  roar,  and  chafe, 

And  swear  not  Addison  himself  was  safe. 

Peace  to  all  such  !  but  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles,  and  fair  fame  inspires  ; 
Bless'd  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease, 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Rear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne, 
View  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise ; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And,  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer  ; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike  ; 
Alike  reserved  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  friend  ; 
Dreading  e'en  fools,  by  flatterers  besieged, 
And  so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  obliged ; 
Like  Cato,  give  his  little  senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause ; 
While  wits  and  Templars  every  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise— 
Who  but  must  laugh,  if  such  a  man  there  be  ? 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  Atticus  were  he  ? 

What  though  my  name  stood  rubric  on  the  waits 
Or  plaster'd  posts,  with  claps,  in  capitals? 


12  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Or  smoking  forth,  a  hundred  hawkers'  load, 
On  wings  of  winds  came  flying  all  abroad  ? 
I  sought  no  homage  from  the  race  that  write : 
I  kept,  like  Asian  monarchs,  from  their  sight: 
Poems  I  heeded  (now  be-rhymed  so  long) 
No  more  than  thou,  great  George  !  a  birth-day  song 
I  ne'er  with  wits  or  witlings  pass'd  my  days, 
To  spread  about  the  itch  of  verse  and  praise; 
Nor  like  a  puppy,  daggled  through  the  town, 
To  fetch  and  carry  sing-song  up  and  down  ; 
Nor  at  rehearsals  sweat,  and  mouth'd,  and  cried, 
With  handkerchief  and  orange  at  my  side : 
But  sick  of  fops,  and  poetry,  and  prate, 
To  Bufo  left  the  whole  Castalian  state. 

Proud  as  Apollo  on  his  forked  hill, 
Sat  full-blown  Bufo,  puff 'd  by  every  quill ; 
Fed  with  soft  dedication  all  day  long, 
Horace  and  he  went  hand  and  hand  in  song. 
His  library  (where  busts  of  poets  dead, 
And  a  true  Pindar  stood  without  a  head) 
Received  of  wits  an  undistinguish'd  race, 
Who  first  his  judgment  ask'd,  and  then  a  place ; 
Much  they  extoll'd  his  pictures,  much  his  seat, 
And  flatter'd  every  day,  and  some  days  eat ; 
Till,  grown  more  frugal  in  his  riper  days, 
He  paid  some  bards  with  ptyt,  and  some  with  praise 
To  some  a  dry  rehearsal  was  assign'd, 
And  others  (harder  still)  he  paid  in  kind. 
Dryden  alone  (what  wonder  ?)  came  not  nigh ; 
.  Dryden  alone  escaped  this  judging  eye  : 
But  still  the  great  have  kindness  in  reserve: 
He  help'd  to  bury  whom  he  help'd  to  starve. 

May  some  choice  patron  bless  each  grey-goose  quill 
May  every  Bavius  have  his  Bufo  still ! 
So  when  a  statesman  wants  a  day's  defence, 
Or  envy  holds  a  whole  week's  war  with  sense, 
Or  simple  pride  for  flattery  makes  demands, 
May  dunce  by  dunce  be  whistled  off  my  hand*. 


PROLOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.        13 

Bless'd  be  the  great !  for  those  they  take  away, 

And  those  they  left  me — for  they  left  me  Gay : 

Left  me  to  see  neglected  genius  bloom, 

Neglected  die,  and  tell  it  on  his  tomb  : 

Of  all  thy  blameless  life  the  sole  return 

My  verse,  and  Queensberry  weeping  o'er  thy  um ! 

Oh,  let  me  live  my  own,  and  die  so  too  ! 
(To  live  and  die  is  all  I  have  to  do  :) 
Maintain  a  poet's  dignity  and  ease, 
And  see  what  friends,  and  read  what  books  I  plcaie' 
Above  a  patron,  though  I  condescend 
Sometimes  to  call  a  minister  my  friend. 
I  was  not  born  for  courts  or  great  affairs  : 
I  pay  my  debts,  believe,  and  say  my  prayers  ; 
Can  sleep  without  a  poem  in  my  head, 
Nor  know  if  Dennis  be  alive  or  dead. 

Why  am  I  ask'd  what  next  shall  see  the  light  ? 
Heavens  !  was  I  born  for  nothing  but  to  write  ? 
Has  life  no  joys  for  me  ?  or  (to  be  grave) 
Have  I  no  friend  to  serve,  no  soul  to  save  ? 
'  I  found  him  close  with  Swift' — '  Indeed  !  no  doubt. 
Cries  prating  Balbus, '  something  will  come  out.' 
'Tis  all  in  vain,  deny  it  as  I  will ; 
'  No,  such  a  genius  never  can  lie  still :' 
And  then  for  mine  obligingly  mistakes 
The  first  lampoon  sir  Will  or  Bubo  makes. 
Poor,  guiltless  I !  and  can  I  choose  but  smile, 
When  every  coxcomb  knows  me  by  my  style  ? 

Cursed  be  the  verse,  how  well  soe'er  it  flow, 
That  tends  to  make  one  worthy  man  my  foe, 
Give  virtue  scandal,  innocence  a  fear, 
Or  from  the  soft-eyed  virgin  steal  a  tear: 
But  he  who  hurts  a  harmless  neighbour's  peace, 
Insults  fallen  worth,  or  beauty  in  distress, 
Who  loves  a  lie,  lame  slander  helps  about, 
Who  writes  a  libel,  or  who  copies  out ; 
That  fop,  whose  pride  affects  a  patron's  name, 
Yet  absent,  wounds  an  author's  honest  fame ; 


14  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Who  can  your  merit  selfishly  approve, 
And  show  the  sense  of  it  without  the  love ; 
Who  has  the  vanity  to  call  you  friend, 
Yet  wants  the  honour,  injured,  to  defend ; 
Who  tells  whate'er  you  think,  whate'er  you  say, 
And,  if  he  lie  not,  must  at  least  betray ; 
Who  to  the  dean  and  silver  bell  can  swear, 
And  sees  at  Canons  what  was  never  there ; 
Who  reads  but  with  a  lust  to  misapply, 
Makes  satire  a  lampoon,  and  fiction  lie  : 
A  lash  like  mine  no  honest  man  shall  dread, 
But  all  such  babbling  blockheads  in  his  stead. 
Let  Sporus  tremble — A.    What  ?  that  thing  of 

silk, 

Sporus,  that  mere  white  curd  of  ass's  milk  ? 
Satire  or  sense,  alas  !  can  Sporus  feel  ? 
Who  breaks  a  butterfly  upon  a  wheel  ? 

P.  Yet  let  me  flap  this  bug  with  gilded  wings, 
This  painted  child  of  dirt,  that  stinks  and  stings  : 
Whose  buzz  the  witty  and  the  fair  annoys, 
Yet  wit  ne'er  tastes,  and  beauty  ne'er  enjoys : 
So  well-bred  spaniels  civilly  delight 
In  mumbling  of  the  game  they  dare  not  bite. 
Eternal  smiles  his  emptiness  betray, 
As  shallow  streams  run  dimpling  all  the  way. 
Whether  in  florid  impotence  he  speaks, 
And  as  the  prompter  breathes,  the  puppet  squeaks  , 
Or  at  the  ear  of  Eve,  familiar  toad, 
Half  froth,  half  venom,  spits  himself  abroad, 
In  puns,  or  politics,  or  tales,  or  lies, 
Or  spite,  or  smut,  or  rhymes,  or  blasphemies  : 
His  wit  all  see-saw,  between  that  and  this, 
Now  high,  now  low,  now  master  up,  now  miss, 
And  he  himself  one  vile  antithesis. 
Amphibious  thing !  that,  acting  either  part, 
The  trifling  head,  or  the  corrupted  heart; 
Fop  at  the  toilet,  flatterer  at  the  board, 
Now  trips  a  lady,  and  now  struts  a  lord. 


PROLOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.         15 

Eve's  tempter  thus  the  rabbins  have  express'd, 
A  cherub's  face,  and  reptile  all  the  rest : 
Beauty  that  shocks  you,  parts  that  none  will  trust, 
Wit  that  can  creep,  and  pride  that  licks  the  dust. 

Not  fortune's  worshipper,  nor  fashion    fool, 
Not  lucre's  madman,  nor  ambition's  tool, 
Not  proud,  nor  servile  :  be  one  poet's  praise, 
That,  if  he  pleased,  he  pleased  by  manly  ways 
That  flattery,  e'en  to  kings,  he  held  a  shame, 
And  thought  a  lie  in  verse  or  prose  the  same ; 
That  not  in  fancy's  maze  he  wander'd  long, 
But  stoop'd  to  truth,  and  moralized  his  song ; 
That  not  for  fame,  but  virtue's  better  end, 
He  stood  the  furious  foe,  the  timid  friend, 
The  damning  critic,  half-approving  wit, 
The  coxcomb  hit,  or  fearing  to  be  hit : 
Laugh'd  at  the  loss  of  friends  he  never  had, 
The  dull,  the  proud,  the  wicked,  and  the  mad  ; 
The  distant  threats  of  vengeance  on  his  head, 
The  blow  unfelt,  the  tear  he  never  shed ; 
The  tale  revived,  the  lie  so  oft  o'erthrown, 
The  imputed  trash,  and  dulness  not  his  own; 
The  morals  blacken'd  when  the  writings  'scape, 
The  libell'd  person,  and  the  pictured  shape; 
Abuse,  on  all  he  loved,  or  loved  him,  spread, 
A  friend  in  exile,  or  a  father  dead  ; 
The  whisper,  that,  to  greatness  still  too  near, 
Perhaps  yet  vibrates  on  his  sovereign's  ear — 
Welcome  for  thee,  fair  virtue  !  all  the  past : 
For  thee,  fair  virtue  !  welcome  e'en  the  last ! 

A.  But  why  insult  the  poor,  afl'ront  the  great  I 
P.  A  knave's  a  knave  to  me,  in  every  state ; 
Alike  my  scorn,  if  he  succeed  or  fail, 
Sporus  at  court,  or  Japhet  in  a  jail: 
A  hireling  scribbler,  or  a  hireling  peer, 
Knight  of  the  post  corrupt,  or  of  the  shire  ; 
If  on  a  pillory,  or  near  a  throne, 
He  gain  his  prince's  ear,  or  lose  his  own. 


16  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Yet  soft  by  nature,  more  a  dupe  than  wit, 
Sappho  can  tell  you  how  this  man  was  bit ; 
This  dreaded  satirist  Dennis  will  confess 
Foe  to  his  pride,  but  friend  to  his  distress  ! 
So  humble,  he  has  knock'd  at  Tibbald's  door, 
Has    drunk    with    Gibber,  nay,  has     rhymed   foi 

Moore : 

Full  ten  years  slander'd,  did  he  once  reply  ? 
Three  thousand  suns  went  down  on  Welsted's  lie 
To  please  a  mistress  one  aspersed  his  life  ; 
He  lash'd  him  not,  but  let  her  be  his  wife  : 
Let  Budgell  charge  low  Grub  street  on  his  quill, 
And  write  whate'er  he  pleased,  except  his  will; 
Let  the  two  Curlls  of  town  and  court  abuse 
His  father,  mother,  body,  soul,  and  muse 
Yet  why  ?  that  father  held  it  for  a  rule, 
It  was  a  sin  to  call  our  neighbour  fool : 
That  harmless  mother  thought  no  wife  a  whore  : 
Hear  this  and  spare  his  family,  James  Moore  ! 
Unspotted  names,  and  memorable  long, 
If  there  be  force  in  virtue  or  in  song. 

Of  gentle  blood  (part  shed  in  honour's  cause, 
While  yet  in  Britain  honour  had  applause) 
Each  parent  sprung — A.  What  fortune,  pray  ? 
P.  Their  own, 

And  better  got  than  Bestia's  from  the  throne. 
Born  to  no  pride,  inheriting  no  strife, 
Nor  marrying  discord  in  a  noble  wife : 
Stranger  to  civil  and  religious  rage, 
The  good  man  walk'd  innoxious  through  his  ago 
No  courts  he  saw,  no  suits  would  ever  try, 
Nor  dared  an  oath,  nor  hazarded  a  lie. 
Unlearn'd,  he  knew  no  schoolman's  subtle  art, 
No  language  but  the  language  of  the  heart. 
By  nature  honest,  by  experience  wise ; 
Healthy  by  temperance  and  by  exercise  ; 
His  life,  though  long,  to  sickness  pass'd  unknown, 
His  death  was  instant  and  without  a  groan. 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  17 

O  grant  me  thus  to  live,  and  thus  to  die  ! 

Who  sprung  from  kings  shall  know  less  joy  than  I. 

O  friend  !  may  each  domestic  bliss  be  chine  ! 
Be  no  unpleasing  melancholy  mine  ; 
Me,  let  the  tender  offic*>long  engage, 
To  rock  the  cradle  of  reposing  age, 
With  lenient  arts  extend  a  mother's  breath, 
Make  languor  smile,  and  smooth  the  bed  of  death  ; 
Explore  the  thought,  explain  the  asking  eye, 
And  keep  awhile  one  parent  from  the  sky  ! 
On  cares  like  these  if  length  of  days  attend. 
May  Heaven,  to  bless  those  days,  preserve  my  friend ! 
Preserve  him  social,  cheerful,  and  serene, 
And  just  as  rich  as  when  he  served  a  queen  ! 

A.  Whether  that  blessing  be  denied  or  given, 
Thus  far  was  right ;  the  rest  belongs  to  Heaven. 


SATIRES  AND  EPISTLES 

OF 

HORACE,  IMITATED. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  occasion  of  publishing  these  Imitations  was  the 
clamour  raised  on  some  of  my  Epistles.  An  answer 
from  Horace  was  both  more  full,  and  of  more  dignity, 
than  any  I  could  have  made  in  my  own  person :  and 
the  example  of  much  greater  freedom  in  so  eminent  a 
divine  as  Dr.  Donne,  seemed  a  proof  with  what  indig 
nation  and  contempt  a  Christian  may  treat  vice  or 
folly,  in  ever  so  low  or  ever  so  high  a  station.  Both 
these  authors  were  acceptable  to  ths  princes  and  mi 
nisters  under  whom  they  lived.  The  satires  of  Dr. 
Donne  I  versified  at  the  desire  of  the  earl  of  Oxford, 
while  he  was  lord  treasurer,  and  of  the  duke  of 
Shrewsbury,  who  had  been  secretary  of  mate ;  neither 
of  whom  looked  upon  a  satire  on  vicious  courts  as 


18  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

any  reflection  on  those  they  served  in.  And,  indeed 
there  is  not  in  the  world  a  greater  error,  than  thai 
which  fools  are  so  apt  to  fall  into,  and  knnvcs  with 
good  reason  to  encourage,  the  mistaking  a  satirist  for 
a  libeller;  whereas  to  a  true  satirist  nothing  is  so 
odious  as- a  libeller,  for  the  fame  reason  as  to  a  man 
truly  virtuous  nothing  is  so  hateful  as  a  hypocrite. 
Uni  requus  virtuti  atque  cjus  ainicis. 


Whoever  expects  a  paraphrase  of  Horace,  or  a 
faithful  copy  of  his  genius,  or  manner  of  writing,  in 
these  imitations,  will  be  much  disappointed.  Our 
author  uses  the  Roman  poet  for  little  more  than  his 
canvass :  and  if  the  old  design  or  colouring  chance 
to  suit  his  purpose,  it  is  well ;  if  not,  he  employs  his 
own,  without  scruple  or  ceremony.  Hence  it  is,  he 
is  so  frequently  serious  where  Horace  is  in  jest,  and 
at  ease  where  Horace  is  disturbed.  In  a  word,  he 
regulates  his  movements  no  further  on  his  original, 
than  was  necessary  for  his  concurrence  in  promoting 
their  common  plan  of  reformation  of  manners. 

Had  it  been  his  purpose  merely  to  paraphrase  an 
ancient  satirist,  he  had  hardly  made  choice  of  Horace  : 
with  whom,  as  a  poet,  he  held  little  in  common,  be 
sides  a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  life  and  manners, 
and  a  certain  curious  felicity  of  expression,  which 
consists  in  using  the  simplest  language  with  dignity 
and  the  most  ornamented  with  ease.  For  the  rest, 
his  harmony  and  strength  of  numbers,  his  force  and 
splendour  of  colouring,  his  gravity  and  sublimity  of 
sentiment,  would  have  rather  led  him  to  another  mo 
del.  Nor  was  his  temper  less  unlike  that  of  Horace 
than  his  talents.  What  Horace  would  only  smile  at 
Mr.  Pope  would  treat  with  the  grave  severity  of  Per- 
sius;  and  what  Mr.  Pope  would  strike  with  the  caus 
tic  lightning  of  Juvenal,  Horace  would  content  him 
self  in  turning  into  ridicule. 

If  it  be  asked,  then,  why  he  took  any  body  at  all  to 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  19 

imitate,  he  has  informed  us  in  his  advertisement.  To 
which  we  may  add,  that  this  sort  of  imitations,  which 
are  of  the  nature  of  parodies,  adds  reflected  grace  and 
splendour  on  original  wit.  Besides,  he  deemed  it 
more  modest  to  give  the  name  of  imitations  to  his  sa 
tire,  than,  like  Despreaux,  to  give  the  name  of  satires 
to  imitations. 


BOOK  II.— SATIRE  I. 

TO  MR  FORTESCUE. 

P  THERE  are  (I  scarce  can  think  it,  but  am  told) 
There  are  to  whom  my  satire  seems  too  bold; 
Scarce  to  wise  Peter  complaisant  enough, 
And  something  said  of  Chartres  much  too  rough. 
The  lines  are  weak,  another's  pleased  to  say  : 
Lord  Fanny  spins  a  thousand  such  a  day. 
Timorous  by  nature,  of  the  rich  in  awe, 
I  come  to  counsel  learned  in  the  law: 
You  '11  give  me,  like  a  friend,  both  sage  and  free, 
Advice:  and  (as  you  use)  without  a  fee. 

F.  I'd  write  no  more. 

P.  Not  write  ?  but  then  I  think, 
And  for  my  soul  J  cannot  sleep  a  wink. 
I  nod  in  company,  I  wake  at  night, 
Fools  rush  into  my  head,  and  so  I  write. 

F.  You  could  not  do  a  worse  thing  for  your  life. 
Why,  if  the  night  seems  tedious — take  a  wife  : 
Or  rather  truly,  if  your  point  be  rest, 
Lettuce  and  cowslip  wine ;  probatum  est. 
But  talk  with  Celsus,  Celsus  will  advise 
Hartshorn,  or  something  that  shall  close  your  eyes. 
Or,  if  you  needs  must  write,  write  Caesar's  praise, 
You  '11  gain  at  least  a  knighthood,  or  the  bays. 

P.  What,  like  sir  Richard  !  rumbling,  rough,  and  fierce 
With  arms,and  George  and  Bru  nswick  c  rowd  the  verse 


1 1 


20 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Rend  with  tremendous  sound  your  ears  asunder, 
With  gun,  drum,  trumpet,  blunderbuss,  and  thunder  I 
Or  nobly  wild,  with  Budgell's  fire  and  force, 
Paint  angels  trembling  round  his  fallen  horse  ? 

F.  Then  all  your  muse's  softer  art  display  ; 
Let  Carolina  smooth  the  tuneful  lay  ; 
Lull  with  Amelia's  liquid  name  the  Nine, 
And  sweetly  flow  through  all  the  royal  line. 

P.  Alas !  few  verses  touch  their  nicer  ear ; 
They  scarce  can  bear  their  laureat  twice  a  year : 
And  justly  Caesar  scorns  the  poet's  lays  ; 
It  is  to  history  he  trusts  for  praise. 

F.  Better  be  Gibber,  I'll  maintain  it  still, 
Than  ridicule  all  taste,  blaspheme  quadrille, 
Abuse  the  city's  best  good  men  in  metre, 
And  laugh  at  peers  that  put  their  trust  in  Peter  ; 
E'en  those  you  touch  not,  hate  you. 

P.  What  should  ail  'em  ? 

F.  A  hundred  smart  in  Timon  and  in  Balaam  : 
The  fewer  still  you  name,  yon  wound  the  more ; 
B  ond  is  but  one,  but  Harpax  is  a  score. 

P.  Each  mortal  has  his  pleasure :  none  deny 
Scarsdale  his  bottle,  Darty  his  ham-pie ; 
Ridotta  sips  and  dances,  till  she  see 
The  doubling  lustres  dance  as  fast  as  she  : 
F —  loves  the  senate,  Hockleyhole  his  brother 
Like  in  all  else,  as  one  egg  to  another. 
I  love  to  pour  out  all  myself,  as  plain 
As  downright  Shippen,  or  as  old  Montagne  : 
In  them,  as  certain  to  be  loved  as  seen, 
The  soul  stood  forth,  nor  kept  a  thought  within 
In  me  what  spots  (for  spots  I  have)  appear, 
Will  prove  at  least  the  medium  must  be  clear. 
In  this  impartial  glass,  my  muse  intends 
Fair  to  expose  myself,  my  foes,  my  friends ; 
Publish  the  present  age ;  but  where  my  text 
Is  vice  too  high,  reserve  it  for  the  next : 
My  foes  shall  wish  my  life  a  longer  date, 
And  every  friend  the  less  lament  mv  fate- 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  21 

My. head  and  heart  thus  flowing  through  my  quill, 

Verseman  or  Prosetnan,  term  me  which  you  will, 

Papist  or  Protestant,  or  both  between, 

Like  good  Erasmus  in  an  honest  mean, 

In  moderation  placing  all  my  glory, 

While  Tories  call  me  Whig,  and  Whigs  a  Tory. 

Satire  's  my  weapon,  but  I'm  too  discreet 
To  run  a-muck,  and  tilt  at  all  I  meet ; 
I  only  wear  it  in  a  land  of  Hectors, 
Thieves,  supercargoes,  sharpers,  and  directors. 
Save  but  our  army !  and  let  Jove  incrust 
Swords,  pikes,  and  guns,  with  everlasting  rust! 
Peace  is  my  dear  delight — not  Fleury's  more : 
But  touch  me,  and  no  minister  so  sore. 
Whoe'er  offends,  at  some  unlucky  time 
Slides  into  verse,  and  hitches  in  a  rhyme, 
Sacred  to  ridicule  his  whole  life  long, 
And  the  sad  burthen  of  some  merry  song. 

Slander  or  poison  dread  from  Delia's  rage  ; 
Hard  words  or  hanging,  if  your  judge  be  Page : 
From  furious  Sappho  scarce  a  milder  fate, 
P-x'd  by  her  love,  or  libell'd  by  her  hate. 
Its  proper  power  to  hurt,  each  creature  feels; 
Bulls  aim  their  horns,  and  asses  lift  their  heels; 
Tis  a  bear's  talent  not  to  kick,  but  hug; 
And  no  man  wonders  he's  not  stung  by  pug. 
So  drink  with  Walters,  or  with  Chartres  eat, 
They  '11  never  poison  you,  they  '11  only  cheat 

Then,  learned  sir !  (to  cut  the  matter  short) 
Whate'er  my  fate,  or  well  or  ill  at  court ; 
Whether  old  age,  with  faint  but  cheerful  ray, 
Attends  to  gild  the  evening  of  my  day, 
Or  Death's  black  wing  already  be  display'd, 
To  wrap  me  in  the  universal  shade  ; 
Whether  the  darken'd  room  to  muse  invite, 
Or  whiten'd  wall  provoke  the  skewer  to  write; 
In  durance,  exile,  Bedlam,  or  the  Mint, 
Like  Lee  or  Budgell,  I  will  rhyme  and  print. 


22  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

F.  Alas,  young  man !  your  days  can  ne'er  be  .ong 
In  flower  of  age  you  perish  for  a  song ! 
Plums  and  directors,  Shylock  and  his  wife, 
Will  club  their  testers,  now,  to  take  your  life ! 

P.  What !  arm'd  for  Virtue  when  I  point  the  peh, 
Brand  the  bold  front  of  shameless  guilty  men ; 
Dash  the  proud  gamester  in  his  gilded  car ; 
Bare  the  mean  heart  that  lurks  beneath  a  star ; 
Can  there  be  wanting,  to  defend  her  cause, 
Lights  of  the  church,  or  guardians  of  the  laws  7 
Could  pension'd  Boileau  lash  in  honest  strain 
Flatterers  and  bigots  e'en  in  Louis'  reign  ? 
Could  laureat  Dryden  pimp  and  friar  engage, 
Yet  neither  Charles  nor  James  be  in  a  rage  ? 
And  I  not  strip  the  gilding  off  a  knave, 
Unplaced,  unpension'd,  no  man's  heir  or  slave  ? 
I  will,  or  perish  in  the  generous  cause  : 
Hear  this,  and  tremble!  you  who  'scape  the  laws. 
Yes,  while  I  live,  no  rich  or  noble  knave 
Shall  walk  the  world  in  credit  to  his  grave: 
To  Virtue  only  and  her  friends  a  friend, 
The  world  beside  may  murmur  or  commend. 
Know,  all  the  distant  din  that  world  can  keep, 
Rolls  o'er  my  grotto,  and  but  soothes  my  sleep. 
There,  my  retreat  the  best  companions  grace, 
Chiefs  out  of  war,  and  statesmen  out  of  place. 
There  St.  John  mingles  with  my  friendly  bowl 
The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul : 
And  he,  whose  lightning  pierced  the  Iberian  lines, 
Now  forms  my  quincunx,  and  now  ranks  my  vines 
Or  tames  the  genius  of  the  stubborn  plain, 
Almost  as  quickly  as  he  conquer'd  Spain. 

Envy  must  own,  I  live  among  the  great, 
No  pimp  of  pleasure,  and  no  spy  of  state : 
With  eyes  that  pry  not,  tongue  that  ne'er  repeats, 
Fond  to  spread  friendships,  but  to  cover  heats ; 
To  help  who  want,  to  forward  who  excel ; 
This,  all  who  know  me,  know,  who  love  me,  tell; 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  23 

And  who  unknown  defame  me,  let  them  be 
Scribblers  or  peers,  alike  are  mob  to  me. 
This  is  my  plea,  on  this  I  rest  my  cause— 
What  saith  my  counsel,  learned  in  the  laws  ? 

F.  Your  plea  is  good ;  but  still  I  say,  beware ! 
Laws  are  expiain'd  by  men — so  have  a  care 
It  stands  on  record,  that  in  Richard's  times 
A  man  was  hang'd  for  very  honest  rhymes  ; 
Consult  the  statute,  quart,  I  think  it  is, 
Eduxirdi  sext.  or  prim,  et  quint.  Eliz. 
See  libels,  satires — here  you  have  it — read. 

P.  Libels  and  satires  !  lawless  things  indeed  t 
But  grave  epistles,  bringing  vice  to  light, 
Such  as  a  king  might  read,  a  bishop  write, 
Such  as  sir  Robert  would  approve — 

F.  Indeed! 

The  case  is  alter' d — you  may  then  proceed ; 
In  such  a  case  the  plaintiff  will  be  hiss'd, 
My  lords  the  judges  laugh,  and  you're  dismiss'd. 


BOOK  II.— SATIRE  II. 
TO  MR.  BETHEL. 

WHAT,  and  how  great,  the  virtue  and  the  ait 
To  live  on  little  with  a  cheerful  heart ! 
(A  doctrine  sage,  but  truly  none  of  mine  ;) 
Let's  talk,  my  friends,  but  talk  before  we  dine. 
Not  when  a  gilt  buffet's  reflected  pride 
Turns  you  from  sound  philosophy  aside  : 
Not  when  from  plate  to  plate  your  eye-balls  roll, 
And  the  brain  dances  to  the  mantling  bowl. 

Hear  Bethel's  sermon,  one  not  versed  in  school^ 
But  strong  in  sense,  and  wise  without  the  .rules. 

'  Go  work,  hunt,  exercise,'  he  thus  began, 
'  Then  scorn  a  homely  dinner,  if  you  can. 


24  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Your  wine  lock'd  up,  your  butler  stroll'd  abroad! 
Or  fish  denied  (the  river  yet  unthaw'd,) 
[f  then  plain  bread  and  milk  will  do  the  feat, 
The  pleasure  lies  in  you,  and  not  the  meat.' 

Preach  as  I  please,  I  doubt  our  curious  men 
Will  choose  a  pheasant  still  before  a  hen  • 
Yet  hens  of  Guinea  full  as  good  I  hold. 
Except  you  eat  the  feathers  green  and  gold. 
Of  carps  and  mullets  why  prefer  the  great, 
(Though  cut  in  pieces  ere  my  lord  can  eat,) 
Yet  for  small  turbots  such  esteem  profess  ? 
Because  God  made  these  large,  the  other  less 
Oldfield,  with  more  than  harpy  throat  endued, 
Cries,  '  Send  me,  gods  !  a  whole  hog  barbecued  ! 
O  blast  it,  south-winds !  till  a  stench  exhale 
Rank  as  the  ripeness  of  a  rabbit's  tail. 
By  what  criterion  do  you  eat,  d'ye  think, 
If  this  is  prized  for  sweetness,  that  for  stink? 
When  the  tired  glutton  labours  through  a  treat, 
lie  finds  no  relish  in  the  sweetest  meat ; 
He  calls  for  something  bitter,  something  sour, 
And  the  rich  feast  concludes  extremely  poor : 
Cheap  eggs,  and  herbs,  and  olives,  still  we  sec; 
Thus  much  is  left  of  old  simplicity  ! 
The  robin-red-breast  till  of  late  had  rest, 
And  children  sacred  held  a  martin's  nest, 
Till  beccaficos  sold  so  devilish  dear 
To  one  that  was,  or  would  have  been,  a  peer. 
Let  me  extol  a  cat  on  oysters  fed, 
I'll  have  a  party  at  the  Bedford  head  ; 
Or  e'en  to  crack  live  crawfish  recommend, 
I'd  never  doubt  at  court  to  make  a  friend. 

'Tis  yet  in  vain,  I  own,  to  keep  a  pother 
About  one  vice,  and  fall  into  the  other: 
Between  excess  and  famine  lies  a  mean ; 
Plain,  but  not  sordid  ;  though  not  splendid,  clean 

Avidien,  or  his  wife,  (no  matter  which, 
For  him  you  Ml  call  a  dog,  and  her  a  bitch,) 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  K 

Sell  their  presented  partridges  and  fruits, 

And  humbly  live  on  rabbits  and  on  roots ; 

One  half-pint  bottle  serves  them  both  to  dine  ; 

And  is  at  once  their  vinegar  and  wine. 

But  on  some  lucky  day  (as  when  they  found 

A  bst  bank  bill,  or  heard  their  son  was  drown'd,) 

At  such  a  feast,  old  vinegar  to  spare, 

Is  what  two  souls  so  generous  cannot  bear: 

Oil,  though  it  stink,  they  drop  by  drop  impart, 

But  souse  the  cabbage  with  a  bounteous  heart. 

He  knows  to  live,  who  keeps  the  middle  state, 
And  neither  leans  on  this  side  nor  on  that; 
Nor  stops,  for  one  bad  cork,  his  butler's  pay, 
Swears,  like  Albutius,  a  good  cook  away; 
No.'  lots,  like  Natvius,  every  error  pass, 
The  musty  wine,  foul  cloth,  or  greasy  glass. 
Now  hear  what  blessings  temperance  can  bring: 
(Thus  said  our  friend,  and  what  he  said  I  sing :) 
First  health:  the  stomach  (cramm'd  from  every  dish, 
A  tomb  of  boil'd  and  roast,  and  flesh  and  fish, 
Where  bile,  and  wind,  and  phlegm,  and  acid  jar, 
And  all  the  man  is  one  intestine  war,) 
Remembers  oft  the  schoolboy's  simple  fare, 
The  temperate  sleeps,  and  spirits  light  as  air. 

How  pale  each  worshipful  and  reverend  guest 
Rise  from  a  clergy  or  a  city  feast ! 
What  life  in  all  that  ample  body  ?  say, 
What  heavenly  particle  inspires  the  clay? 
The  soul  subsides,  and  wickedly  inclines 
To  seem  but  mortal  e'en  in  sound  divines. 

On  morning  wings  how  active  springs  the  mind, 
That  leaves  the  load  of  yesterday  behind  ! 
How  easy  every  labour  it  pursues ! 
How  coming  to  the  poet  every  Muse ! 
Not  but  we  may  exceed,  some  holy  time, 
Or  tired  in  search  of  truth,  or  search  of  rhyme ; 
111  health  some  just  indulgence  may  engage; 
And  more  the  sickness  of  long  life,  old  age  r 

VOL.  II.  3 


K  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

For  fainting  age  what  cordial  drop  remains, 
If  our  intemperate  youth  the  vessel  drains  ? 

Our  fathers  praised  rank  venison.    You  suppose, 
Perhaps,  young  men  !  our  fathers  had  no  nose. 
Not  so  :  a  buck  was  then  a  week's  repast, 
And  'twas  their  point,  I  ween,  to  make  it  last : 
More  pleased  to  keep  it  till  their  friends  could 
Than  eat  the  sweetest  by  themselves  at  home. 
Why  had  not  I  in  those  good  times  my  birth, 
Ere  coxcomb-pies  or  coxcombs  were  on  earth  ? 

Unworthy  he  the  voice  of  fame  to  hear, 
That  sweetest  music  to  an  honest  ear, 
(For  'faith,  lord  Fanny  !  you  are  in  the  wrong, 
The  world's  good  word  is  better  than  a  song;) 
Who  has  not  learn'd,  fresh  sturgeon  and  ham-pic 
Are  no  rewards  for  want  and  infamy ! 
When  luxury  has  lick'd  up  all  thy  pelf, 
Cursed  by  thy  neighbours,  thy  trustees,  thyself; 
To  friends,  to  fortune,  to  mankind  a  shame, 
Think  how  posterity  will  treat  thy  name ; 
And  buy  a  rope,  that  future  times  may  tell 
Thou  hast  at  least  bestow'd  one  penny  well. 

'  Right,'  cries  his  lordship, '  for  a  rogue  in  need 
To  have  a  taste,  is  insolence  indeed  : 
In  me  'tis  noble,  suits  my  birth  and  state, 
My  wealth  unwieldy,  and  my  heap  too  great.' 
Then,  like  the  sun,  let  bounty  spread  her  raf, 
And  shine  that  superfluity  away. 
O  impudence  of  wealth  !  with  all  thy  store 
How  darest  thou  let  one  worthy  man  be  pool  / 
Shall  half  the  new-built  churches  round  thee  fall  ? 
Make  keys,  build  bridges,  or  repair  Whitehall : 
Or  to  thy  country  let  that  heap  be  lent, 
As  M* *o's  was,  but  not  at  five  per  cent. 
Who  thinks  that  fortune  cannot  change  her  mind, 
Prepares  a  dreadful  jest  for  all  mankind. 
And  who  stands  safest  ?  tell  me,  is  it  he 
That  spreads  and  swells  in  pufTd  prosperity, 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  27 

Or  bless'd  with  little,  whose  preventing  care 
In  peace  provides  fit  arms  against  a  war  ? 

Thus  Bethel  spoke,  who  always  speaks  his  thought, 
And  always  thinks  the  very  thing  he  ought : 
His  equal  mind  I  copy  what  I  can, 
And  as  I  love,  would  imitate  the  man. 
In  South-sea  days  not  happier,  when  surmised, 
The  lord  of  thousands,  than  if  now  excised; 
In  forest  planted  by  a  father's  hand, 
Than  in  five  acres  now  of  rented  land. 
Content  with  little  I  can  piddle  here 
On  brocoli  and  mutton,  round  the  year  ; 
But  ancient  friends  (though  poor,  or  out  of  play) 
That  touch  my  bell,  I  cannot  turn  away. 
'Tis  true,  no  turbots  dignify  my  boards, 
But  gudgeons,  flounders,  what  my  Thames  affords ! 
To  Hounslow-heath  I  point,  and  Bansted-down, 
Thence  comes  your  mutton,  and  these  chicks  my  own: 
From  yon  old  walnut  tree  a  shower  shall  fall ; 
And  grapes  long  lingering  on  my  only  wall ; 
And  figs  from  standards  and  espalier  join; 
The  devil  is  in  you  if  you  cannot  dine : 
Then  cheerful  healths  (your  mistress  shall  have 

place,) 
And,  what 's  more  rare,  a  poet  shall  say  grace. 

Fortune  not  much  of  humbling  me  can  boast ; 
Though  double  tax'd,  how  little  have  I  lost ! 
My  life's  amusements  have  been  just  the  same, 
Before  and  after  standing  armies  came. 
My  lands  are  sold,  my  father's  house  is  gone  . 
I'll  hire  another's  :  is  not  that  my  own, 
And  yours,  my  friends  ?  through  whose  free  opening 

gate 

None  comes  too  early,  none  departs  too  late  ; 
(For  I,  who  hold  sage  Homer's  rule  the  best, 
Welcome  the  coming,  speed  the  going  guest.) 

'  Pray  Heaven  it  last !'  cries  Swift, '  as  you  go  on: 
I  wish  to  God  this  house  had  been  your  own  • 


28  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Pity  !  to  build,  without  a  son  or  wife  ; 
Why,  you'll  enjoy  it  only  all  your  life.' 
Well,  if  the  use  be  mine,  can  it  concern  one, 
Whether  the  name  belong  to  Pope  or  Vernon  ? 

What's  property  ?  dear  Swift !  you  see  it  alter 
From  you  to  me,  from  me  to  Peter  Walter; 
Or  in  a  mortgage,  prove  a  lawyer's  share ; 
Or  in  a  jointure,  vanish  from  the  heir; 
Or  in  pure  equity  (the  case  not  clear) 
The  Chancery  takes  your  rents  for  twenty  year ; 
At  best,  it  falls  to  some  ungracious  son, 
Who  cries,  'My  father's  damn'd,  and  all 's  my  own. 
Shades,  that  to  Bacon  could  retreat  afford, 
Become  the  portion  of  a  booby  lord  ; 
And  Hemsley,  once  proud  Buckingham's  delight, 
Slides  to  a  scrivener,  or  a  city  knight. 
Let  lands  and  houses  have  what  lords  they  will, 
Let  us  be  fix'd,  and  our  own  masters  still. 


BOOK  I.— EPISTLE  I. 
TO  LORD  BOLINGBROKE. 

ST.  JOHN,  whose  love  indulged  my  labours  past, 
Matures  my  present,  and  shall  bound  my  last ! 
Why  will  you  break  the  sabbath  of  my  days  ? 
Now  sick  alike  of  envy  and  of  praise. 
Public  too  long,  ah,  let  me  hide  my  age  ! 
See  modest  Cibber  now  has  left  the  stage : 
Our  generals  now,  retired  to  their  estates, 
Hang  their  old  trophies  o'er  the  garden  gates, 
In  life's  cool  evening  satiate  of  applause, 
Nor  fond  of  bleeding,  e'en  in  Brunswick's  cause. 

A  voice  there  is,  that  whispers  in  my  ear, 
('Tis  reason's  voice,  which  sometimes  one  can  hear,', 
4  Friend  Pope !  be  prudent,  let  your  Muse  take  breath, 
And  never  gallop  Pegasus  to  death; 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  29 

Lest  stiff  and  stately,  void  of  fire  or  force, 

You  limp,  like  Blackmore  on  a  lord  mayor's  horse.' 

Farewell  then  verse,  and  love,  and  every  toy, 
The  rhymes  and  rattles  of  the  man  or  boy ; 
What  right,  what  true,  what  fit,  we  justly  call, 
Let  this  be  all  my  care — for  this  is  all : 
To  lay  this  harvest  up,  and  hoard  with  haste, 
What  every  day  will  want,  and  most  the  last. 

But  ask  not  to  what  doctors  I  apply  ? 
Sworn  to  no  master,  of  no  sect  am  I : 
As  drives  the  storm,  at  any  door  I  knock, 
And  house  with  Montagne  now,  or  now  with  Locke  : 
Sometimes  a  patriot,  active  in  debate, 
Mix  with  the  world,  and  battle  for  the  state ; 
Free  as  young  Lyttleton,  her  cause  pursue, 
Still  true  to  virtue,  and  as  warm  as  true  : 
Sometimes  with  Aristippus,  or  St.  Paul, 
Indulge  my  candour,  and  grow  all  to  all, 
Back  to  my  native  moderation  slide, 
And  win  my  way  by  yielding  to  the  tide. 

Long  as  to  him  who  works  for  debt  the  day, 
Long  as  the  night  to  her  whose  love  's  away ; 
Long  as  the  year's  dull  circle  seems  to  run, 
When  the  brisk  minor  pants  for  twenty-one ; 
So  slow  the  unprofitable  moments  roll, 
That  lock  up  all  the  functions  of  my  soul ; 
That  keep  me  from  myself;  and  still  delay 
Life's  instant  business  to  a  future  day  : 
That  task  which  as  we  follow  or  despise, 
The  eldest  is  a  fool,  the  youngest  wise : 
Which  done,  the  poorest  can  no  wants  endure ; 
And  which  not  done,  the  richest  must  be  poor. 

Late  as  it  is,  I  put  myself  to  school, 
And  feel  some  comfort,  not  to  be  a  fool. 
Weak  though  I  am  of  limb,  and  short  of  sight, 
Far  from  a  lynx,  and  not  a  giant  quite ; 
I'll  do  what  Mead  and  Cheselden  advise, 
To  keep  these  limbs,  and  to  preserve  these  eyea 


=n 


30 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 


Not  to  go  back,  is  somewhat  to  advance, 

And  men  must  walk  at  least  before  they  dance. 

Say,  does  thy  blood  rebel,  thy  bosom  move 
With  wretched  avarice,  or  as  wretched  love  ? 
Know  there  are  words  and  spells  which  can  control. 
Between  the  fits,  the  fever  of  the  soul ; 
Know  there  are  rhymes,  which  fresh  and  fresh  applied, 
Will  cure  the  arrant'st  puppy  of  his  pride. 
Be  furious,  envious,  slothful,  mad  or  drunk, 
Slave  to  a  wife,  or  vassal  to  a  punk, 
A  Switz,  a  High-Dutch,  or  a  Low-Dutch  bear  r 
All  that  we  ask  is  but  a  patient  ear. 

'Tis  the  first  virtue,  vices  to  abhor  ; 
And  the  first  wisdom,  to  be  fool  no  more. 
But  to  the  world  no  bugbear  is  so  great, 
As  want  of  figure,  and  a  small  estate. 
To  either  India  see  the  merchant  fly, 
Scared  at  the  spectre  of  pale  poverty  ; 
See  him,  with  pains  of  body,  pangs  of  soul, 
Burn  through  the  tropic,  freeze  beneath  the  pole . 
Wilt  thou  do  nothing  for  a  noble  end, 
Nothing  to  make  philosophy  thy  friend  ? 
To  stop  thy  foolish  views,  thy  long  desires, 
And  ease  thy  heart  of  all  that  it  admires  ? 
Here  wisdom  calls  :  '  Seek  virtue  first,  be  bold  ! 
As  gold  to  silver,  virtue  is  to  gold.' 
There,  London's  voice, '  Get  money,  money  still ! 
And  then  let  Virtue  follow,  if  she  will.' 
This,  this  the  saving  doctrine,  preach'd  to  all, 
From  low  St.  James's  up  to  high  St.  Paul ! 
From  him  whose  quills  stand  quiver'd  at  his  ear, 
To  him  who  notches  sticks  at  Westminster. 

Barnard  in  spirit,  sense,  and  truth  abounds  ; 
Pray  then  what  wants  he?'      Fourscore  thousand 
A  pension,  or  such  harness  for  a  slave  [pounds 

As  Bug  now  has,  and  Dorimant  would  have. 
Barnard,  thou  art  a  cit  with  all  thy  worth ; 
But  Bug  and  D*l,  their  honours,  and  so  forth. 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  3 

let  every  child  another  song  will  sing, 
Virtue,  brave  boys  '  'tis  virtue  makes  a  king.' 
True,  conscious  honour,  is  to  feel  no  sin, 
He's  arm'd  without  that 's  innocent  within  ; 
Be  this  thy  screen,  and  this  thy  wall  of  brass  ; 
Compared  to  this,  a  minister  's  an  ass. 

And  say,  to  which  shall  our  applause  belong, 
This  new  court-jargon,  or  the  good  old  song? 
The  modern  language  of  corrupted  peers, 
Or  what  was  spoke  at  Cressy  or  Poitiers? 
Who  counsels  best?  who  whispers,  'Be  but  great, 
With  praise  or  infamy,  leave  that  to  fate  ; 
Get  place  and  wealth,  if  possible,  with  grace; 
If  not,  by  any  means  get  wealth  and  place  :' 
For  what?  to  have  a  box  where  eunuchs  sing, 
And  foremost  in  the  circle  eye  a  kin^ : 
Or  he,  who  bids  thee  face  with  steady  view 
Proud  fortune,  and  look  shallow  greatness  through: 
And,  while  he  bids  thee,  sets  the  example  too? 
If  such  a  doctrine,  in  St.  James's  air, 
Should    chance    to   make    the   well-dress'd   rabble 

stare ; 

In  honest  S*z  take  scandal  at  a  spark, 
That  less  admires  the  palace  than  the  park : 
'Faith  I  shall  give  the  answer  Reynard  gave: 

I  cannot  like,  dread  sire,  your  royal  cave  ; 
Because  I  see,  by  all  the  tracks  about, 
Full  many  a  beast  goes  in,  but  none  come  out ' 
Adieu  to  Virtue,  if  you  're  once  a  slave : 
Send  her  to  court,  you  send  her  to  her  grave. 

Well,  if  a  king 's  a  lion,  at  the  least 
The  people  are  a  many-headed  beast ; 
Can  they  direct  what  measures  to  pursue, 
Who  know  themselves  so  little  what  to  do? 
Alike  in  nothing  but  one  lust  of  gold, 
Just  half  the  land  would  buy,  and  half  be  sold . 
Their  country's  wealth  our  mightier  misers  drain, 
Or  cross,  to  plunder  provinces,  the  main; 


32  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  rest,  some  farm  the  poor-box,  some  the  pews; 
Some  keep  assemblies,  and  would  keep  the  stews ; 
Some  with  fat  bucks  on  childless  dotards  fawn; 
Some  win  rich  widows  by  their  chine  and  brawn; 
While  with  the  silent  growth  often  per  cent, 
In  dirt  and  darkness,  hundreds  stink  content. 

Of  all  these  ways,  if  each  pursues  his  own, 
Satire,  be  kind,  and  let  the  wretch  alone  : 
But  show  me  one  who  has  it  in  his  power 
To  act  consistent  with  himself  an  hour. 
Sit  Job  snil'd  fo-fh,  the  evening  bright  and  still : 
'  No  place  on  earth,  he  cried, '  like  Greenw;ch-hill '' 
Up  starts  a  palace ;  lo,  the  obedient  base 
Slopes  at  its  foot,  the  woods  its  sides  embrace, 
The  silver  Thames  reflects  its  marble  face. 
Now  let  some  whimsy,  or  that  devil  within, 
Which  guides  all  those  who  know  not  what  thej 

mean, 

But  give  the  knight  (or  give  his  lady)  spleen  ; 
'  Away,  away  !  take  all  your  scaffolds  down, 
For  snug  's  the  word :  my  dear,  we  '11  live  in  town: 

At  amorous  Flavio  is  the  stocking  thrown  ? 
That  very  night  he  longs  to  lie  alone. 
The  fool  whose  wife  elopes  some  thrice  a  quarter, 
For  matrimonial  solace,  dies  a  martyr. 
Did  ever  Proteus,  Merlin,  any  witch, 
Transform  themselves  so  strangely  as  the  rich  ? 
Well,  but  the  poor — the  poor  have  the  same  itch 
They  change  their  weekly  barber,  weekly  news. 
Prefer  a  new  japanner  to  their  shoes ; 
Discharge  their  garrets,  move  their  beds,  and  run 
(They  know  not  whither)  in  a  chaise  and  one ; 
They  hire  their  sculler,  and  when  once  aboard, 
Grow  sick,  and  damn  the  climate — like  a  lord. 

You  laugh,  half-beau  half-sloven  if  I  stand, 
My  wig  all  powder,  and  all  snuft'  my  band : 
You  laugh,  if  coat  and  breeches  strangely  vary, 
White  gloves,  and  linen  worthy  lady  Mary  ! 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  33 

But  when  no  prelate's  lawn,  with  hair-shirt  lined) 

Is  half  so  incoherent  as  my  min^, 

When  (each  opinion  with  the  next  at  strife ; 

One  ebb  and  flow  of  follies  all  my  life,) 

I  plant,  root  up ;  I  build  and  then  confound  ; 

Turn  round  to  square,  and  square  again  to  round  ; 

You  never  change  one  muscle  of  your  face, 

You  think  this  madness  but  a  common  case, 

Nor  once  to  Chancery,  nor  to  Hale  apply  ; 

Yet  hang  your  lip  to  see  a  seam  awry  ! 

Careless  how  ill  I  with  myself  agree, 

Kind  to  my  dress,  my  figure,  not  to  me. 

Is  this  my  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend? 

This  he,  who  loves  me,  and  who  ought  to  mend? 

Who  ought  to  make  me  (what  he  can,  or  none) 

That  man  divine  whom  Wisdom  calls  her  own  ; 

Great  without  title,  without  fortune  bless'd  ; 

Rich  e'en  when  plunder'd,  honour'd  while  oppress'd  ; 

Loved  without  youth,  and  follow'd  without  power: 

At  home,  though  exiled  ;  free,  though  in  the  Tower  ; 

In  short,  that  reasoning,  high  immortal  thing, 

Just  less  than  Jove,  and  much  above  a  king  ; 

Nay,  half  in  heaven — except  (what's  mighty  odd) 

A  fit  of' vapours  clouds  this  demi-god  ! 


*    BOOK  I.— EPISTLE  VI. 
TO  MR.  MURRAY. 

This  piece  is  the  most  finished  of  all  his  imitations, 
and  executed  in  the  high  manner  the  Italian  painters 
call  con  amore  ;  by  which  they  mean,  the  exertion  of 
that  principle  which  puts  the  faculties  on  the  stretch, 
and  produces  the  supreme  degree  of  excellence.  For 
the  poet  had  all  the  warmth  of  affection  for  the  great 
lawyer  to  whom  it  is  addressed  ;  and,  indeed,  no  man 
rver  more  deserved  to  have  a  poet  for  his  friend.  In 


34  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

tha-obtaining  of  which,  as  neither  vanity,  party,  nor 
fear,  had  any  share^  so  he  supported  his  title  to  it  by 
all  the  offices  of  true  friendship. 


'  NoT-to  admire,  is  all  the  art  I  know, 
To  make  men  happy,  and  to  keep  them  so.' 
(Plain  truth,  dear  Murray,  needs  no  flowers  of  speech, 
So  take  it  in  the  very  words  of  Creech.) 

This  vault  of  air,  this  congregated  ball, 
Self-centred  sun,  and  stars  that  rise  and  fall, 
There  are,  my  friend !  whose  philosophic  eyes 
Look  through,  and  trust  the  Ruler  with  his  skies, 
To  him  commit  the  hour,  the  day,  the  year, 
And  view  this  dreadful  all  without  a  fear. 

Admire  we  then  what  earth's  low  entrails  hold, 
Arabian  shores,  or  Indian  seas  infold  ; 
All  the  mad  trade  of  fools  and  slaves  for  gold  ? 
Or  popularity  ?  or  stars  and  strings  ? 
The  mob's  applauses,  or  the  gifts  of  kings  ? 
Say  with  what  eyes  we  ought  at  courts  to  gaze, 
And  pay  the  great  our  homage  of  amaze  ? 

If  weak  the  pleasure  that  from  these  can  spring 
The  fear  to  want  them  is  as  weak  a  thing : 
iVhether  we  dread,  or  whether  we  desire, 
In  either  case,  believe  me,  we  admire  ; 
VVhether  we  joy  or  grieve,  the  same  the  curse, 
Surprised  at  better,  or  surprised  at  worse.     * 
Thus  good  or  bad,  to  one  extreme  betray 
The  unbalanced  mind,  and  snatch  the  man  away 
For  virtue's  self  may  too  much  zeal  be  had ; 
The  worst  of  madmen  is  a  saint  run  mad. 

Go  then,  and  if  you  can,  admire  the  state 
Of  beaming  diamonds,  and  reflected  plate; 
Procure  a  taste  to  double  the  surprise, 
And  gaze  on  Parian  charms  with  learned  eyes  . 
3e  struck  with  bright  brocade,  or  Tyrian  dye, 
Or  birth-day  nobles'  splendid  livery. 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  35 

if  not  so  pleased,  at  council-board  rejoice 
To  see  their  judgments  hang  upon  thy  voice  ; 
From  morn  to  night,  at  senate,  rolls,  and  hall, 
Plead  much,  read  more,  dine  late,  or  not  at  all. 
But  wherefore  all  this  labour,  all  this  strife  ? 
For  fame,  for  riches,  for  a  noble  wife  ? 
Shall  one  whom  nature,  learning,  birth  conspired 
To  form,  not  to  admire,  but  be  admired, 
Sigh  while  his  Chloe,  blind  to  wit  and  worth, 
Weds  the  rich  dulness  of  some  son  of  earth? 
Yet  time  ennobles,  or  degrades  each  line : 
It  brighten'd  Craggs's,  and  may  darken  thine. 
And  what  is  fame  ?  the  meanest  have  their  day : 
The  greatest  can  but  blaze,  and  pass  away. 
Graced  as  thou  art,  with  all  the  power  of  words, 
So  known,  so  honour'd,  at  the  house  of  lords  : 
Conspicuous  scene  !  another  yet  is  nigh 
'More  silent  far,)  where  kings  and  poets  lie  : 
Where  Murray  (long  enough  his  country's  pride) 
Shall  be  no  more  than  Tully  or  than  Hyde  ! 

Rack'd  with  sciatics,  martyr'd  with  the  stone, 
Will  any  mortal  let  himself  alone  ? 
See  Ward  by  batter'd  beaux  invited  over, 
And  desperate  misery  lays  hold  on  Dover. 
The  case  is  easier  in  the  mind's  disease  ; 
There  all  men  may  be  cured  whene'er  they  please 
Would  ye  be  bless'd  ?  despise  low  joys,  low  gains ; 
Disdain  whatever  Cornbury  disdains  ; 
Be  virtuous,  and  be  happy  for  your  pains. 

But  art  thou  one,  whom  new  opinions  sway  ? 
One  who  believes  as  Tindal  leads  the  way, 
Who  virtue  and  a  church  alike  disowns, 
Thinks  that    but   words,  and    this    but   brick    and 

stones  ? 

Fly  then  on  all  the  wings  of  wild  desire, 
Admire  whate'er  the  maddest  can  admire. 
Is  wealth  thy  passion  ?    Hence  !  from  pole  to  pole, 
Where  winds  can  carry,  or  where  waves  can  roll ; 


36  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

For  Indian  spices,  for  Peruvian  gold, 

Prevent  the  greedy,  or  outbid  the  bold  : 

Advance  thy  golden  mountain  to  the  skies  ; 

On  the  broad  base  of  fifty  thousand  rise, 

Add  one  round  hundred,  and  (if  that's  not  fair) 

Add  fifty  more,  and  bring  it  to  a  square : 

For,  mark  the  advantage;  just  so  many  score 

Will  gain  a  wife  with  half  as  many  more  ; 

Procure  her  beauty,  make  that  beauty  chaste; 

And  then  such  friends — as  cannot  fail  to  last. 

A  man  of  wealth  is  dubb'd  a  man  of  worth, 

Venus  shall  give  him  form,  and  Anstis  birth. 

(Believe  me,  many  a  German  prince  is  worse, 

Who  proud  of  pedigree  is  poor  of  purse.) 

His  wealth  brave  Timon  gloriously  confounds , 

Ask'd  for  a  groat,  he  gives  a  hundred  pounds  ; 

Or  if  three  ladies  like  a  luckless  play, 

Take  the  whole  house  upon  the  poet's  day 

Mow,  in  such  exigences  not  to  need, 

Upon  my  word,  you  must  be  rich  indeed; 

A  noble  superfluity  it  craves, 

Not  for  yourself,  but  for  your  fools  and  knaves  , 

Something,  which  for  your  honour  they  may  cheat, 

And  which  it  much  becomes  you  to  forget. 

If  wealth  alone  then  make  and  keep  us  blcss'd, 

Still,  still  be  getting,  never,  nfever  rest. 

But  if  to  power  and  place  your  passion  lie, 
If  in  the  pomp  of  life  consist  the  joy; 
Then  hire  a  slave,  or  (if  you  will)  a  lord, 
To  do  the  honours,  and  to  give  the  word ; 
Tell  at  your  levee,  as  the  crowds  approach, 
To  whom  to  nod,  whom  take  into  your  coach, 
Whom  honour  with  your  hand  :  to  make  remarks, 
Who  rules  in  Cornwall,  or  who  rules  in  Berks : 
This  may  be  troublesome,  is  near  the  chair ; 
That  makes  three  members,  this  can  choose  a  mayor 
Instructed  thus,  you  bow,  embrace,  protest, 
Adopt  him  son,  or  cousin  at  the  least, 
Then  turn  about,  and  laugh  at  your  own  jest 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  87 

Or  if  your  life  be  one  continued  treat, 
If  to  live  well  means  nothing  but  to  eat; 
Up,  up !  cries  gluttony,  'tis  break  of  day, 
Go  drive  the  deer,  and  drag  the  finny  prey ; 
With  hounds  and  horns  go  hunt  an  appetite— 
So  Russel  did,  but  could  not  eat  at  night , 
Call'd  happy  dog  !  the  beggar  at  his  door, 
And  envied  thirst  and  hunger  to  the  poor. 

Or  shall  we  every  decency  confound ; 
Through  taverns,  stews,  and  bagnios  take  our  round ,' 
Go  dine  with  Chartres,  in  each  vice  outdo 
K — l*s  lewd  cargo,  or  Ty — y's  crew ; 
From  Latian  sirens,  French  Circsan  feasts, 
Return  well  travell'd,  and  transform'd  to  beasts ; 
Or  for  a  titled  punk,  or  foreign  flame, 
Renounce  our  country,  and  degrade  our  name? 
If,  after  all,  we  must  with  Wilmot  own, 
The  cordial  drop  of  life  is  love  alone, 
And  Swift  cry  wisely,  Vive  la  bagatelle  ! 
The  man  that  loves  and  laughs,  must  sure  do  well. 
Adieu — if  this  advice  appear  the  worst, 
E'en  take  the  counsel  which  I  gave  you  first : 
Or  better  precepts  if  you  can  impart, 
Why  do ;  I'll  follow  them  with  all  my  heart. 


BOOK  II.— EPISTLE  I. 

TO  AUGUSTUS. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  reflections  of  Horace,  and  the  judgments  passed  in 
his  Epistle  to  Augustus,  seemed  so  seasonable  to  the 
present  times,  that  I  could  not  help  applying  them  to 
the  use  of  my  own  country.  The  author  thought  them 
considerable  enough  to  address  them  to  his  prince, 
whom  he  paints  with  all  the  great  and  good  qualities 
of  a  monarch,  upon  whom  the  Romans  depended  for 


18  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

the  increase  of  an  absolute  empire.  But  to  make  tha 
poem  entirely  English,  I  was  willing  to  add  one  or 
two  ofthosft  whicli  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  a  free 
people,  and  are  more  consistent  with  the  welfare  of 
oui  neighbours. 


This  Epistle  will  show  the  learned  world  to  have 
fallen  into  two  mistakes:  one,  that  Augustus  was  the 
patron  of  poets  in  general ;  whereas  he  not  only  pro 
hibited  all  but  the  best  writers  to  name  him,  but  re 
commended  that  care  even  to  the  civil  magistrate  • 
Admonebat  prcetores,  ne  paterentur  nomen  suum 
obsolefieri,  ffc.  The  other,  that  this  piece  was  only  a 
general  discourse  of  poetry;  whereas  it  was  an  apo 
logy  for  the  poets,  in  order  to  render  Augustus  more 
their  patron.  Horace  here  pleads  the  cause  of  his 
contemporaries,  first  against  the  taste  of  the  town, 
whose  humour  it  was  to  magnify  the  authors  of  the 
preceding  age ;  secondly,  against  the  court  and  no 
bility,  who  encourage  only  the  writers  for  the  theatre; 
and  histly,  against  the  emperor  himself,  who  had  con 
ceived  them  of  little  use  to  the  government.  He 
shows  (by  a  view  of  the  progress  of  learning,  and  the 
change  of  taste  among  the  Romans)  that  the  intro 
duction  of  the  polite  arts  of  Greece  had  given  the 
writers  of  his  time  great  advantages  over  their  prede 
cessors  ;  that  their  morals  were  much  improved,  and 
the  licence  of  those  ancient  poets  restrained ;  that 
satire  and  comedy  were  become  more  just  and  useful ; 
that  whatever  extravagances  were  left  on  the  stage, 
were  owing  to  the  ill  taste  of  the  nobility;  that  poets, 
under  due  regulations,  were  in  many  respects  useful  to 
the  state;  and  concludes,  that  it  was  upon  them  the  em 
peror  himself  must  depend  for  his  fame  with  posterity. 

We  may  further  learn  from  this  Epistle,  that  Horace 
made  his  court  to  this  great  prince,  by  writing  with 
a  decent  freedom  towards  him,  with  a  just  contempt 
of  his  low  flatterers,  and  with  a  manly  regard  to  hi» 
own  character 


• 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  39 

WHILE  you,  great  patron  of  mankind  !  sustain 
The  balanced  world,  and  open  all  the  main; 
Your  country,  chief  in  arms,  abroad  defend  ; 
At  home,  with  morals,  arts,  and  laws  amend  ; 
How  shall  the  Muse,  from  such  a  monarch  steal 
An  hour,  and  not  defraud  the  public  weal  ? 

Edward  and  Henry,  now  the  boast  of  fame, 
And  virtuous  Alfred,  a  more  sacred  name, 
After  a  life  of  generous  toils  endured, 
The  Gaul  subdued,  or  property  secured, 
Ambition  humbled,  mighty  cities  storm'd, 
Or  law  establish'd,  and  the  world  reform'd, 
Closed  their  long  glories  with  a  sigh,  to  find 
The  unwilling  gratitude  of  base  mankind! 
All  human  virtue  to  its  latest  breath 
Finds  envy  never  conquer' d  but  by  death. 
The  great  Alcides,  every  labour  past, 
Had  still  this  monster  to  subdue  at  last : 
Sure  fate  of  all,  beneath  whose  rising  ray 
Each  star  of  meaner  merit  fades  away  ! 
Oppress'd  we  feel  the  beam  directly  beat ; 
Those  suns  of  glory  please  not  till  they  set. 

To  thee  the  world  its  present  homage  pays, 
The  harvest  early,  but  mature  the  praise  : 
Great  friend  of  liberty  !  in  kings  a  name 
Above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame; 
Whose  word  is  truth,  as  sacred  and  revered, 
As  Heaven's  own  oracles  from  altars  heard : 
Wonder  of  kings  !  like  whom,  to  mortal  eyes, 
None  e'er  has  risen,  and  none  e'er  shall  rise. 

Just  in  one  instance,  be  it  yet  confess'd, 
Your  people,  sir,  are  partial  in  the  rest : 
Foes  to  all  living  worth  except  your  own, 
And  advocates  for  folly  dead  and  gone. 
Authors,  like  coins,  grow  dear  as  they  grow  old ; 
It  is  the  rust  we  value,  not  the  gold. 
Chaucer's  worst  ribaldry  is  learn'd  by  rote, 
And  beastly  Skelton  heads  of  houses  quote: 


40 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


One  likes  no  language  but  the  Fairy  Queen  : 
A  Scot  will  fight  for  Christ's  Kirk  o'  the  Green; 
And  each  true  Briton  is  to  Ben  so  civil, 
He  swears  the  Muses  met  him  at  the  Devil. 

"Though  justly  Greece  her  eldest  sons  admires, 
Why  should  not  we  be  wiser  than  our  sires  ? 
In  every  public  virtue  we  excel ; 
We  build,  we  paint,  we  sing,  we  dance  as  well ; 
And  learned  Athens  to  our  art  must  stoop, 
Could  she  behold  us  tumbling  through  a  hoop. 

If  time  improve  our  wits  as  well  as  wine, 
Say  at  what  age  a  poet  grows  divine  ? 
Shall  we,  or  shall  we  not,  account  him  so, 
Who  died  perhaps,  a  hundred  years  ago? 
End  all  dispute  ;  and  fix  the  year  precise 
When  British  bards  begin  to  immortalize  ? 

'  Who  lasts  a  century  can  have  no  flaw ; 
I  hold  that  wit  a  classic,  good  in  law.' 

Suppose  he  wants  a  year,  will  you  compound? 
And  shal.  \ve  deem  him  ancient,  right,  and  sound, 
Or  damn  to  all  eternity  at  once, 
At  ninety-nine  a  modern  and  a  dunce  ? 

'  We  shall  not  quarrel  for  a  year  or  two  ; 
By  courtesy  of  England  he  may  do.' 
«     Then  by  the  rule  that  made  the  horse-tail  bare, 
I  pluck  out  year  by  year,  as  hair  by  hair, 
And  melt  down  ancients  like  a  heap  of  snow 
While  you,  to  measure  merits,  look  in  Stowe, 
And  estimating  authors  by  the  year, 
Bestow  a  garland  only  on  a  bier. 

Shakspeare  (whom  you  and  every  playhouse-oil 
Style  the  divine,  the  matchless,  what  you  will) 
^or  gain,  not  glory,  wing'd  his  roving  flight, 
And  grew  immortal  in  his  own  despite. 
Ben,  old  and  poor,  as  little  seem'd  to  heed 
The  life  to  come  in  every  poet's  creed. 
Who  now  reads  Cowley  ?  if  he  pleases  yf 
His  moral  pleases,  not  his  Dointed  wit ; 


IMITATIONS  ORHORACE.  41 

Forgot  his  epic,  nay  Pindaric  art, 

But  still  I  love  the  language  of  his  heart. 

'  Yet  surely,  surely,  these  were  famous  men  ! 
What  boy  but  hears  the  sayings  of  old  Ben? 
In  all  debates  where  critics  bear  a  part, 
Not  one  but  nods,  and  talks  of  Jonson's  art, 
Of  Shakspeare's  nature,  and  of  Cowley's  wit ; 
How  Beaumont's  'judgment  check'd  what  Fletcher 
How  Sliadwell  hasty,  Wycherley  was  slow  ;     [writ ; 
But,  for  the  passions,  Southern,  sure,  and  Rowe. 
These,  only  these,  support  the  crowded  stage, 
From  eldest  Heywood  down  to  Gibber's  age.' 

All  this  may  be  ;  the  people's  voice  is  odd, 
It  is,  and  it  is  not,  the  voice  of  God. 
To  Gammer  Gurton  if  it  give  the  bays, 
And  yet  deny  the  Careless  Husband  praise, 
Or  say  our  fathers  never  broke  a  rule  ; 
Why  then,  I  say,  the  public  is  a  fool. 
But  let  them  own,  that  greater  faults  than  we 
They  had,  and  greater  virtues,  I'll  agree. 
Spencer  himself  affects  the  obsolete, 
And  Sydney's  verse  halts  ill  on  Roman  feet : 
Milton's  strong  pinion  now  not  Heaven  can  bound, 
Now  serpent-like  in  prose  he  sweeps  the  ground  ; 
In  quibbles,  angel  and  archangel  join, 
And  God  the  Father  turns  a  school  divine. 
Not  that  I'd  lop  the  beauties  from  his  book, 
Like  slashing  Bentley  with  his  desperate  hook  ; 
Or  damn  all  Shakspeare,  like  the  affected  fool 
At  court,  who  hates  whate'er  he  read  at  school 

But  for  the  wits  of  either  Charles's  days, 
The  mob  of  gentlemen  who  wrote  with  ease : 
Sprat,  Carew,  Sedly,  and  a  hundred  more 
(Like  twinkling  stars,  the  miscellanies  o'er,) 
One  simile,  that  solitary  shines 
In  the  dry  desert  of  a  thousand  lines, 
Or  lengthen'd  thought  that  gleams  through  many  a 
Has  sanctified  whole  poems  for  an  a?e.  [page 

.  VOL.  TI.  4 


42  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

I  lose  my  patience,  and  I  own  it  too, 
When  works  are  censured,  not  as  bad,  but  new  ; 
While,  if  our  elders  break  all  reason's  laws, 
These  fools  demand  not  pardon  but  applause. 

On  Avon's  bank,  where  flowers  eternal  blow, 
If  I  but  ask  if  any  weed  can  grow  ; 
One  tragic  sentence  if  I  dare  deride, 
Which  Betterton's  grave  action  dignified, 
Or  well-mouth'd  Booth  with  emphasis  proclaims 
(Though  but,  perhaps,  a  muster-roll  of  names,) 
How  will  our  fathers  rise  up  in  a  rage, 
And  swear  all  shame  is  lost  in  George's  age! 
You'd  think  no  fools  disgraced  the  former  reign, 
Did  not  some  grave  examples  yet  remain, 
Who  scorn  a  lad  should  teach  his  father  skill, 
And  having  once  been  wrong,  will  be  so  still. 
He,  who  to  seem  more  deep  than  you  or  I, 
Extols  old  bards,  or  Merlin's  prophecy, 
Mistake  him  not ;  he  envies,  not  admires, 
And  to  debase  the  sons  exalts  the  sires. 
Had  ancient  times  conspired  to  disallow 
What  then  was  new,  what  had  been  ancient  now  1 
Or  what  remain'd,  so  worthy  to  be  read 
By  learned  critics,  of  the  mighty  dead  ? 

In  days  of  ease,  when  nov7  the  weary  sword 
Was  sheath'd,  and  luxury  with  Charles  restored : 
In  every  taste  of  foreign  courts  improved, 
All,  by  the  king's  example  lived  and  loved.' 
Then  peers  grew  proud  in  horsemanship  to  excel, 
Newmarket's  glory  rose,  as  Britain's  fell  ; 
•The  soldier  breathed  the  gallantries  of  France, 
And  every  flowery  courtier  writ  romance. 
Then  marble,  soflen'd  into  life,  grew  warm, 
And  yielding  metal  flow'd  to  human  form : 
Lely  on  animated  canvass  stole 
The  sleepy  eye,  that  spoke  the  melting  soul. 
No  wonder  then,  when  all  was  love  and  sport, 
The  willing  Muses  were  debauch'd  at  court : 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACK.  43 

On  each  enervate  string  they  taught  the  note 
To  pant,  or  tremble  through  an  eunuch's  throat. 

But  Britain,  changeful  as  a  child  at  play, 
Now  calls  in  princes,  and  now  turns  away. 
Now  Whig,  now  Tory,  what  we  love  we  hate  ; 
Now  all  for  pleasure,  now  for  church  or  state ; 
Now  for  prerogative,  and  now  for  laws; 
Effects  unhappy  !  from  a  noble  cause. 

Time  was,  a  sober  Englishman  would  knock 
His  servants  up,  and  rise  by  five  o'clock  ; 
Instruct  his  family  in  every  rule, 
And  send  his  wife  to  church,  his  son  to  school. 
To  worship  like  his  fathers,  was  his  care ; 
To  teach  their  frugal  virtues  to  his  heir ; 
To  prove  that  luxury  could  never  hold ; 
And  place  on  good  security,  his  gold. 
Now  times  are  changed,  and  one  poetic  itch 
Has  seized  the  court  and  city,  poor  and  rich  ; 
Sons,  sires,  and  grandsires,  all  will  bear  the  bays  •. 
Our  wives  read  Milton,  and  our  daughters  plays  ; 
To  theatres  and  to  rehearsals  throng, 
And  all  our  grace  at  table  is  a  song. 
I,  who  so  oft  renounce  the  Muses,  lie, 
Not  ***'s  self  e'er  tells  more  fibs  than  I ; 
When  sick  of  Muse,  our  follies  we  deplore, 
And  promise  our  best  friends  to  rhyme  no  itiore  , 
We  wake  next  morning  in  a  raging  fit, 
And  call  for  pen  and  ink  to  show  our  wit. 

He  served  a  'prenticeship,  who  sets  up  shop  ; 
Ward  tried  on  puppies,  and  the  poor,  his  drop  ; 
E'en  Radcliffe's  doctors  travel  first  to  France, 
Nor  dare  to  practise  till  they've  learn'd  to  dance. 
Who  builds  a  bridge  that  never  drove  a  pile  ? 
(Should  Ripley  venture,  all  the  world  would  smilo 
But  those  that  cannot  write,  and  those  who  can, 
All  rhyme,  and  scrawl,  and  scribble  to  a  man. 

Yet,  sir,  reflect,  the  mischief  is  not  great ; 
These  madmen  never  hurt  the  church  or  state. 


44  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Sometimes  the  folly  benefits  mankind  ; 
And  rarely  avarice  taints  the  tuneful  mind. 
Allow  him  but  his  plaything  of  a  pen, 
He  ne'er  rebels,  or  plots,  like  other  men  . 
Flights  of  cashiers,  or  mobs  he'll  never  mind, 
And  knows  no  losses  while  the  Muse  is  kind. 
To  cheat  a  friend,  or  ward,  he  leaves  to  Peter; 
The  good  man  heaps  up  nothing  but  mere  metre, 
Enjoys  his  garden  and  his  book  in  quiet ; 
And  then — a  perfect  hermit  in  his  diet. 

Of  little  use  the  man  you  may  suppose, 
Who  says  in  verse,  what  others  say  in  prose  : 
Yet  let  me  show  a  poet's  of  some  weight, 
And  (though  no  soldier)  useful  to  the  state. 
What  will  a  child  learn  sooner  than  a  song? 
What  better  teach  a  foreigner  the  tongue  ? 
What's  long  or  short,  each  accent  where  to  place, 
And  speak  in  public  with  some  sort  of  grace  ? 
I  scarce  can  think  him  such  a  worthless  thing, 
Unless  he  praise  some  monster  for  a  king  : 
Or  virtue,  or  religion  turn  to  sport, 
To  please  a  lewd  or  unbelieving  court. 
Unhappy  Dryden  ! — In  all  Charles's  days, 
Roscommon  only  boasts  unspotted  bays  ; 
And  in  our  own  (excuse  some  courtly  strains} 
No  whiter  page  than  Addison  remains. 
He  from  the  taste  obscene  reclaims  our  youth, 
And  sets  the  passions  on  the  side  of  truth, 
Forms  the  soft  bosom  with  the  gentlest  art, 
And  pours  each  human  virtue  in  the  heart. 
Let  Ireland  tell  how  wit  upheld  her  cause, 
Her  trade  supported,  and  supplied  her  laws  j 
And  leave  on  Swift  this  grateful  verse  engravedi 
'  The  rights  a  court  attack'd,  a  poet  saved.' 
Behold  the  hand  that  wrought  a  nation's  cure, 
Stretch'd  to  relieve  the  idiot  and  the  poor, 
Proud  vice  to  brand,  or  injured  worth  adorn, 
And  stretch  the  ray  to  ages  yet  unborn. 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  45 

Not  but  there  are,  who  merit  other  palms  ; 
Hopkins  and  Sternhold  glad  the  heart  with  psalms, 
The  boys  and  girls  whom  charity  maintains, 
Implore  your  help  in  these  pathetic  strains  : 
How  could  devotion  touch  the  country  pews, 
Unless  the  gods  bestowed  a  proper  muse  ? 
Verse  cheers  their  leisure,  verse  assists  their  work, 
Verse  prays  for  peace,  or  sings  down  pope  and  Turk. 
The  silenced  preacher  yields  to  potent  strain, 
And  feels  that  grace  his  prayer  besought  in  vain  ; 
The  blessing  thrills  through  all  the  labouring  throng, 
And  heaven  is  won  by  violence  of  song. 

Our  rural  ancestors,  with  little  bless'd 
Patient  of  labour  when  the  end  was  rest, 
Indulged  the  day  that  housed  their  annual  grain, 
With  feasts,  and  offerings,  and  a  thankful  strain ; 
The  joy  their  wives,  their  sons,  and  servants  share, 
Ease  of  their  toil,  and  partners  of  their  care  : 
The  laugh,  the  jest,  attendants  on  the  bowl, 
Smoothed  every  brow,  and  open'd  every  soul : 
With  growing  years  the  pleasing  licence  grew, 
And  taunts  alternate  innocently  flew. 
But  times  corrupt,  and  nature  ill-inclined, 
Produced  the  point  that  left  a  sting  behind  ; 
Till,  friend  with  friend,  and  families  at  strife, 
Triumphant  malice  raged  through  private  life. 
Who  felt  the  wrong,  or  fear'd  it,  took  the  alarm, 
\ppeal'd  to  law,  and  justice  lent  her  arm. 
At  length  by  wholesome  dread  of  statutes  bound, 
The  poets  learn'd  to  please,  and  not  to  wound  ; 
Most  warp'd  to  flattery's  side  ;  but  some  more  nice, 
Preserved  the  freedom  and  forbore  the  vice. 
Hence  satire  rose,  that  just  the  medium  hit, 
And  heals  with  morals  what  it  hurts  with  wit. 

We  conquer'd  France,  but  felt  our  captive's  charms 
Her  arts  victorious  triumph'd  o'er  our  arms  ; 
Britain  to  soft  refinements  less  a  foe, 
Wit  grew  polite,  and  numbers  learn'd  to  flow. 


46  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Waller  was  smooth  ;  but  Drytlen  taught  to  join 
The  varying  verse,  the  full  resounding  line, 
The  long  m;ijestic  march,  and  energy  divine  : 
Though  still  some  traces  of  our  rustic  vein 
And  splayfoot  verse  remain'd,  and  will  remain 
Late,  very  late,  correctness  grew  our  care, 
When  the  tired  nation  breathed  from  civil  war, 
Exact  Racine,  and  Corneille's  noble  fire, 
Show'd  us  that  France  had  something  to  admire 
Not  but  the  tragic  spirit  was  our  own, 
And  full  in  Shakspeare,  fair  in  Otway,  shone  • 
But  Otway  fail'd  to  polish  or  refine, 
And  fluent  Shakspeare  scarce  effaced  a  line. 
E'en  copious  Dryden  wanted,  or  forgot, 
The  last  and  greatest  art,  the  art  to  blot. 

Some  doubt,  if  equal  pains,  or  equal  fire, 
The  humbler  muse  of  comedy  require. 
But  in  known  images  of  life,  I  guess 
The  labour  greater,  as  the  indulgence  less. 
Observe  how  seldom  e'en  the  best  succeed  : 
Tell  me  if  Congreve's  fools  are  fools  indeed? 
What  pert  low  dialogue  lias  Farquhar  writ ! 
How  Van  wants  grace,  who  never  wanted  wit . 
The  stage  how  loosely  does  Astraa  tread, 
Who  fairly  puts  all  characters  to  bed ! 
And  idle  Gibber,  how  he  breaks  the  laws, 
To  make  poor  Pinkey  eat  with  vast  applause  \ 
But  fill  their  purse,  our  poets'  work  is  done, 
Alike  to  them,  by  pathos  or  by  pun. 

O  you  !  whom  vanity's  light  bark  conveys 
On  fame's  mad  voyage  by  the  wind  of  praise, 
With  what  a  shifting  gale  your  course  you  ply; 
For  ever  sunk  too  low,  or  borne  too  high  ; 
Who  pants  for  glory  finds  but  short  repose  • 
A  breath  revives  him,  or  a  breath  o'erthrovvw 
Farewell  the  stage  !  if,  just  as  thrives  the  play 
The  silly  bard  grows  fat,  or  falls  away. 

There  still  remains,  to  mortify  a  wit, 
The  many-headed  monster  of  the  pit : 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE. 


47 


A  senseless,  worthless,  and  unhonour'd  crowd  : 
Who,  to  disturb  their  betters  mighty  proud, 
Clattering  their  sticks  before  ten  lines  are  spoke, 
Call  for  the  farce,  the  bear,  or  the  black-joke. 
What  dear  delight  to  Britons  farce  affords  ! 
Ever  the  taste  of  mobs,  but  now  of  lords  ! 
(Taste,  that  eternal  wanderer,  which  flies 
From  heads  to  ears,  and  now  from  ears  to  eyes :) 
The  play  stands  still;  damn  action  and  discourse, 
Back  fly  the  scenes,  and  enter  foot  and  horse; 
Pageants  on  pageants,  in  long  order  drawn, 
Peers,  heralds,  bishops,  ermine,  gold,  and  lawn 
The  champion  too !  and  to  complete  the  jest, 
Old  Edward's  armour  beams  on  Gibber's  breast 
With  laughter  sure  Democritus  had  died, 
Had  he  beheld  an  audience  gape  so  wide. 
Let  bear  or  elephant  be  e'er  so  white, 
The  people  sure,  the  people  are  the  sight ! 
Ah  luckless  poet!  stretch  thy  lungs  and  roar, 
That  bear  or  elephant  shall  heed  thee  more  ; 
While  all  its  throats  the  gallery  extends, 
And  all  the  thunder  of  the  pit  ascends! 
Loud  as  the  wolves,  on  Orca's  stormy  steer , 
Howl  to  the  roarings  of  the  northern  deep. 
Such  is  the  shout,  the  long-applauding  note, 
At  Quin's  high  plume,  or  Oldfield's  petticoat ; 
Or  when  from  court  a  birthday  suit  bestow'd, 
Sinks  the  lost  actor  in  the  tawdry  load. 
Booth  enters — hark  !  the  universal  peal ! 
'  But  has  he  spoken?'     Not  a  syllable. 
What  shook  the  stage,  and  made  the  people  stare ; 
Cato's  long  wig,  flower'd  gown,  and  lacquer'd  chaif 

Yet,  lest  you  think  1  rally  more  than  teach, 
Or  praise  malignly  arts  I  cannot  reach, 
Let  me  for  once  presume  to  instruct  the  times 
To  know  the  poet  from  the  man  of  rhymes : 
Tis  he  who  gives  my  breast  a  thousand  pains, 
Can  make  me  feel  each  passion  that  h?  feigns ; 


48  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Enrage,  compose,  with  more  than  magic  art 
With  pity,  and  with  terror,  tear  my  heart, 
And  snatch  me  o'er  ths  earth,  or  through  the  air 
To  Thebes,  to  Athens,  when  he  will,  and  where. 

But  not  this  part  of  the  poetic  state 
Alone,  deserves  the  favour  of  the  great : 
Think  of  those  authors,  sir,  who  would  rely 
More  on  a  reader's  sense  than  gazer's  eye. 
Or  who  shall  wander  where  the  Muses  sing  ? 
Who  climb  their  mountain,  or  who  taste  their  spring 
How  shall  we  fill  a  library  with  wit, 
When  Merlin's  cave  is  half  unfurnish'd  yet? 

My  liege !  why  writers  little  claim  your  thought, 
I  guess ;  and,  with  your  leave,  will  tell  the  fault ; 
We  poets  are  (upon  a  poet's  word) 
Of  all  mankind,  the  creatures  most  absurd: 
The  season  when  to  come,  and  when  to  go, 
To  sing,  or  cease  to  sing,  we  never  know ; 
And  if  we  will  recite  nine  hours  in  ten, 
You  lose  your  patience  just  like  other  men. 
Then  too  we  hurt  ourselves,  when,  to  defend 
A  single  verse,  we  quarrel  with  a  friend ; 
Repeat  unask'd ;  lament  the  wit 's  too  fine 
For  vulgar  eyes,  and  point  out  every  line  ; 
But  most,  when,  straining  with  too  weak  a  wing, 
We  needs  will  write  epistles  to  the  king; 
And  from  the  moment  we  oblige  the  town, 
Expect  a  place  or  pension  from  the  crown ; 
Or,  dubb'd  historians  by  express  command, 
To  enrol  your  triumphs  o'er  the  seas  and  land, 
Be  call'd  to  court  to  plan  some  work  divine, 
As  once  for  Louis,  Boileau  and  Racine. 

Yet  think,  great  sir  !  (so  many  virtues  shown) 
Ah  !  think  what  poet  best  may  make  them  known 
Or  choose  at  least  some  minister  of  grace, 
Fit  to  bestow  the  laureat's  weighty  place. 

Charles,  to  late  times  to  be  transmitted  fair, 
Assign'd  his  figure  to  Bernini's  care  ; 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  4 

And  great  Nassau  to  Kneller's  hand  decreed 
To  fix  him  graceful  on  the  bounding  steed  ; 
So  well  in  paint,  and  stone  lltey  judge  of  merit : 
But  kings  in  wit  may  want  discerning  spirit. 
The  hero  William,  and  the  martyr  Charles, 
One  knighted  Blackrnore,  and  one  pension'd  Quarlesi 
Which  made  old  Ben  and  surly  Dennis  swear, 
'No  Lord's  anointed,  but  a  Russian  bear.' 
Not  with  such  majesty,  such  bold  relief, 
The  forms  august,  of  king,  or  conquering  chief, 
E'er  swell'd  on  marble,  as  in  verse  have  shined 
(In  polish'd  verse)  the  manners  and  the  mind. 
O !  could  I  mount  on  the  Maeonian  wing, 
Your  arms,  your  actions,  your  repose  to  sing; 
What  seas  you  traversed,  and  what  fields  you  fought ! 
Your  country's  peace,  how  oft,  how  dearly  bought! 
How  barbarous  rage  subsided  at  your  word, 
And  nations  wonder' d  while  they  dropp'd  the  sword  ! 
How,  when  you  nodded,  o'er  the  land  and  deep, 
Peace  stole  her  wing,  and  wrapp'd  the  world  in  sleep 
Till  earth's  extremes  your  meditation  own, 
And  Asia's  tyrants  tremble  at  your  throne — 
But  verse,  alas  !  your  majesty  disdains ; 
And  I  'rn  not  used  to  panegyric  strains  : 
The  zeal  of  fools  offends  at  any  time, 
But  most  of  all,  the  zeal  of  fools  in  rhyme. 
Besides,  a  fate  attends  on  all  I  write, 
That  when  I  aim  at  praise  they  say  [  bite. 
A  vile  encomium  doubly  ridicules  : 
There  's  nothing  blackens  like  the  ink  of  foola 
If  true,  a  \voful  likeness  ;  and  if  lies, 
'  Praise  undeserved  is  scandal  in  disguise  ;' 
Well  may  he  blush,  who  gives  it  or  receives  ; 
And  when  I  flatter,  let  my  dirty  leaves 
(Like  journals,  odes,  and  such  forgotten  things 
As  Eusden,  Philips,  Settle,  writ  of  kings) 
Clothe  spice,  line  trunksr  or,  fluttering  in  a  row, 
Befringe  the  rails  of  Bedlam  and  Soho 


fiO  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

BOOK  II.— EPISTLE  II. 

Ludentia  speciem  dabit,  et  torquebitur.— HOR 

DEAR  colonel,  Cobham's  and  your  country's  friend* 
You  love  a  verse,  take  such  as  I  can  send. 

A  Frenchman  comes,  presents  you  with  his  boy, 
Bows,  and  begins — '  This  lad,  sir,  is  of  Blois  : 
Observe  his  shape  how  clean  !  his  locks  how  curl'd  ! 
My  only  son  ;  I'd  have  him  see  the  world  : 
His  French  is  pure;  his  voice  too — you  shall  hear ; 
Sir,  he  's  your  slave,  for  twenty  pounds  a-year. 
Mere  wax  as  yet,  you  fashion  him  with  ease, 
Your  barber,  cook,  upholsterer,  what  you  please: 
A  perfect  genius  at  an  opera  song — 
To  say  too  much  might  do  my  honour  wrong. 
Take  him  with  all  his  virtues,  on  my  word ; 
His  whole  ambition  was  to  serve  a  lord  : 
But,  sir,  to  you,  with  what  would  I  not  part  ? 
Though,  'faith,  I  fear,  'twill  break  his  mother's  heart 
Once  (and  but  once)  I  caught  him  in  a  lie, 
And  then,  unwhipp'd,  he  hud  the  grace  to  cry : 
The  fault  he  has  I  fairly  shall  reveal, 
(Could  you  o'erlook  but  that)  it  is,  to  steal. 

If,  after  this,  you  took  the  graceless  lad, 
Could  you  complain,  my  friend,  he  proved  so  bad  ? 
'Faith,  in  such  case,  if  you  should  prosecute, 
I  think,  sir  Godfrey  should  decide  the  suit ; 
Who  sent  the  thief  that  stole  the  cash,  away, 
And  punish'd  him  that  put  it  in  his  way. 

Consider  then,  and  judge  me  in  this  light : 
I  told  you  when  I  went,  I  could  not  write ; 
You  said  the  same ;  and  are  you  discontent 
With  laws  to  which  you  gave  your  own  assent? 
Nay  worse,  to  ask  for  verse  at  such  a  time ! 
Do  ye  think  me  good  for  nothing  but  to  rhyme  i 

In  Anna's  wars,  a  soldier  poor  and  old 
Had  dearly  earn'd  a  little  purse  of  gold ; 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  51 

Tired  with  a  tedious  march,  one  luckless  night, 
He  slept,  poor  dog !  and  lost  it  to  a  doit. 
This  put  the  man  in  such  a  desperate  mind, 
Between  revenge  and  grief,  and  hunger  join'd, 
Against  the  foe,  himself,  and  :ill  mankind, 
He  leap'd  the  trenches,  scaled  a  castle  wall, 
Tore  down  a  standard,  took  the  fort  and  all. 

Prodigious  well !'  his  great  commander  cried, 
Gave  him  much  praise,  and  some  reward  beside, 
Next,  pleased  his  excellence  a  town  to  batter, 
(Its  name  I  know  not,  and  'tis  no  great  matter :) 
'Go  on  my  friend,'  he  cried,  'see  yonder  walls ! 
Advance  and  conquer  !  go  where  glory  calls ! 
More  honours,  more  rewards,  attend  the  brave.' 
Don't  you  remember  what  reply  he  gave  ? 
'  Do  you  think  me,  noble  general,  such  a  sot? 
Let  him  take  castles  who  has  no'er  a  groat ' 

Bred  up  at  home,  full  early  I  begun 
To  read  in  Greek  the  wrath  of  Peleus'  son. 
Besides,  my  father  taught  me  from  a  lad, 
The  better  art,  to  know  the  good  from  bad: 
(And  little  sure  imported  to  remove, 
To  hunt  for  truth  in  Maudlin's  learned  grove.) 
But  knottier  points,  he  knew  not  half  so  well, 
Deprived  us  soon  of  our  paternal  cell : 
And  certain  laws,  by  sufferers  thought  unjust, 
Denied  all  posts  of  profit  or  of  trust: 
Hopes  after  hopes  of  pious  papists  fail'd, 
While  mighty  William's  thundering  arm  prevail  d 
For  right  hereditary  tax'd  and  fined, 
He  stuck  to  poverty  with  peace  of  mind  : 
And  me  the  Muses  help'd  to  undergo  it ; 
Convict  a  papist  he,  and  I  a  poet. 
But  (thanks  to  Homer)  since  I  live  and  thrive, 
Indebted  to  no  prince  or  peer  alive, 
Sure  I  should  want  the  care  often  Monroes, 
If  I  would  scribble,  rather  than  repose. 
Years  following  years  steal  something  every  day 

At  last  they  steal  us  from  ourselves  away ; 


52  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

In  one  our  frolics,  one  amusements  end, 
In  one  a  mistress  drops,  in  one  a  friend : 
This  subtle  thief  of  life,  this  paltry  time, 
What  will  it  leave  me,  if  it  snatch  my  rhyme  .' 
If  every  wheel  of  that  unwearied  mill, 
That  turn'd  ten  thousand  verses,  now  stand  stiJ  1 
But  after  all,  what  would  you  have  me  do, 
When  out  of  twenty  I  can  please  not  two  ? 
When  this  heroics  only  deigns  to  praise, 
Sharp  satire  that,  and  that  Pindaric  lays  ? 
One  likes  the  pheasant's  wing,  and  one  the  leg  ; 
The  vulgar  boil,  the  learned  roast  an  egg  : 
Hard  task  !  to  hit  the  palates  of  such  guests, 
When  Oldfield  loves  what  Dartineuf  detests. 

But  grant  I  may  relapse,  for  want  of  grace, 
Again  to  rhyme  :  can  London  be  the  place  ? 
Who  there  his  muse,  or  self,  or  soul  attends, 
In  crowds,  and  courts,  law,  business,  feasts,  and 

friends  ? 

My  counsel  sends  to  execute  a  deed : 
A  poet  begs  me  I  will  hear  him  read  : 
In  Palace-yard  at  nine  you'll  find  me  there — 
At  ten  for  certain,  sir,  in  Bloomsbury-square — 
Before  the  lords  at  twelve  my  cause  comes  on — 
There's  a  rehearsal,  sir,  exact  at  one. 
'  O !  but  a  wit  can  study  in  the  streets, 
And  raise  his  mind  above  the  mob  he  meets.' 
Not  quite  so  well,  however,  as  one  ought ; 
A  hackney  coach  may  chance  to  spoil  a  thought , 
And  then  a  nodding  beam,  or  pig  of  lead, 
God  knows,  may  hurt  the  very  ablest  head. 
Have  you  not  seen,  at  Guildhall's  narrow  pass, 
Two  aldermen  dispute  it  with  an  ass  ? 
And  peers  give  >vay,  exalted  as  they  are, 
E'en  to  their  own  s-r-v — nee  in  a  car  ? 

Go,  lofty  poet !  and  in  such  a  crowd, 
Sing  thy  sonorous  verse — but  not  aloud. 
Alas  !  to  grottoes  and  to  groves  we  run, 
To  ease  and  silence,  every  Muse's  son  : 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  53 

Blackmore  himself,  for  any  grand  effort, 

Would  drink  and  doze  at  Tooting  or  Earl's-Court. 

How  shall  I  rhyme  in  this  eternal  roar  ? 

How   match  the  bards  whom    none   e'er  match'd 

before  ! 

The  man,  who,  stretch'd  in  Isis'  calm  retreat, 
To  books  and  study  gives  seven  years  complete, 
See  !  strow'd  with  learned  dust,  his  nightcap  on, 
He  walks  an  object  new  beneath  the  sun  ! 
The  boys  flock  round  him,  and  the  people  stare : 
So  stiff,  so  mute !  some  statue,  you  would  swear, 
Stcpp'd  from  its  pedestal  to  take  the  air ! 
And  here,  while  town,  and  court,  and  city  roars, 
With  mobs,  and  duns,  and  soldiers  at  their  doors  ; 
Shall  I,  in  London,  act  this  idle  part, 
Composing  songs  for  fools  to  get  by  heart  ? 

The  Temple  late  two  brother  sergeants  saw, 
Who  deem'd  each  other  oracles  of  law  ; 
With  equal  talents,  these  congenial  souls, 
One  lull'd  the  Exchequer,  and  one  stunn'd  the  Holla 
Each  had  a  gravity  would  make  you  split, 
And  shook  his  head  at  Murray  as  a  wit. 
Twas, '  Sir,  your  law' — and  '  Sir,  your  eloquence,' 
Yours,  Covvper's  manner' — '  and  yours,  Talbot'a 

sense.' 

Thus  we  dispose  of  all  poetic  merit, 
Yours  Milton's  genius,  and  mine  Homer's  spirit. 
Call  Tibbald  Shakspeare,  and  he'll  swear  the  Nine, 
Dear  Gibber  !  never  match'd  one  ode  of  thine. 
Lord  !  how  we  strut  through  Merlin's  Cave,  to  see 
No  poets  there,  but  Stephen,  you,  and  me. 
Walk  with  respect  behind,  while  we  at  ease 
Weave  laurel  crowns,  and  take  what    names  we 

please. 

My  dear  Tibullus  !'  If  that  will  not  do, 
Let  me  be  Horace,  and  be  Ovid  you ; 
Or,  I'm  content,  allow  me  Dryden's  strains, 
And  you  shall  raise  up  Otway  for  your  pains. 


54  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Much  do  I  suffer,  much  to  keep  in  peace 

This  jealous,  waspish,  wrong-head,  rhyming  race  ; 

And  much  must  flatter,  if  the  whim  should  bite, 

To  court  applause  by  printing  what  I  write : 

But  let  the  fit  pass  o'er,  I'm  wise  enough 

To  stop  my  ears  to  their  confounded  stuff. 

In  vain  bad  rhymers  all  mankind  reject, 
They  treat  themselves  with  most  profound  respect , 
'Tis  to  small  purpose  that  you  hold  your  tongue, 
Each,  praised  within,  is  happy  all  day  long : 
But  how  severely  with  themselves  proceed 
The  men  who  write  such  verse  as  we  can  read  ? 
Their  own  strict  judges,  not  a  word  they  spare 
That  wants  or  force,  or  light,  or  weight,  or  care, 
Howe'er  unwillingly  it  quits  its  place, 
Nay,  though  at  court,  perhaps,  it  may  find  grace  : 
Such  they'll  degrade ;  and  sometimes,  in  its  stead, 
In  downright  charity  revive  the  dead  ; 
Mark  where  a  bold,  expressive  phrase  appears, 
Bright  through  the  rubbish  of  some  hundred  years 
Command  old  words  that  long  have  slept,  to  wake, 
Words  that  wise  Bacon  or  brave  Raleigh  spake ; 
Or  bid  the  new  be  English  ages  hence ; 
(For  use  will  father  what's  begot  by  sense,) 
Pour  the  full  tide  of  eloquence  along, 
Serenely  pure,  and  yet  divinely  strong, 
Rich  with  the  treasures  of  each  foreign  tongue  ; 
Prune  the  luxuriant,  the  uncouth  refine, 
But  show  no  mercy  to  an  empty  line  : 
Then  polish  all,  with  so  much  life  and  ease, 
You  think  'tis  nature,  and  a  knack  to  please  ; 
'  But  ease  in  writing  flows  from  art,  not  chance ; 
As  those  move  easiest  who  have  learn'd  to  dance 

If  such  the  plague  and  pains  to  write  by  rule, 
Better,  say  I,  be  pleased,  and  play  the  fool; 
Call,  if  you  will,  bad  rhyming  a  disease, 
It  gives  men  happiness,  or  leaves  them  ease. 
There  lived  in  primo  Georgii  (they  record) 
A  worthy  member,  no  small  fool,  a  lord ; 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  & 

Who,  though  the  house  was  up,  delighted  sate, 

Heard,  noted,  answer'd,  as  in  full  debate  : 

In  all  but  this,  a  man  of  sober  life, 

Fond  of  his  friend,  and  civil  to  his  wife ; 

Not  quite  a  madman,  though  a  pasty  fell ; 

And  much  too  wise  to  walk  into  a  well. 

Him,  the  damn'd  doctors  and  his  friends  immured, 

They  bled,  they  cupp'd,  they  purged  ;  in  short,  thej 

cured  : 

Whereat  the  gentleman  began  to  stare — 
'  My   friends !'   he  cried,   '  p-x   take  you  for  your 

care  ! 

That  from  a  patriot  of  distinguish'd  note, 
Have  bled  and  purged  me  to  a  simple  vote.' 

Well,  on  the  whole,  plain  prose  must  be  my  fate  : 
Wisdom  (curse  on  it)  will  come  soon  or  late. 
There  is  a  time  when  poets  will  grow  dull : 
I'll  e'en  leave  verses  to  the  boys  at  school; 
To  rules  of  poetry  no  more  confined, 
I'll  learn  to  smooth  and  harmonize  my  mind, 
Teach  every  thought  within  its  bounds  to  roll, 
And  keep  the  equal  measure  of  the  soul. 

Soon  as  I  enter  at  my  country  door, 
My  mind  resumes  the  thread  it  dropp'd  before  ; 
Thoughts  which  at  Hyde-park  corner  I  forgot, 
Meet  and  rejoin  me,  in  the  pensive  grot; 
There  all  alone,  and  compliments  apart, 
I  ask  these  sober  questions  of  my  heart : 

If,  when  the  more  you  drink,  the  more  you  crafo, 
You  tell  the  doctor ;  when  the  more  you  have, 
The  more  you  want,  why  not  with  equal  ease 
Confess  as  well  your  folly  as  disease  ? 
The  heart  resolves  this  matter  in  a  trice, 
'  Men  only  feel  the  smart,  but  not  the  vice.' 

When  golden  angels  cease  to  cure  the  evil, 
You  give  all  royal  witchcraft  to  the  devil : 
When  servile  chaplains  cry,  that  birth  and  place 
Endue  a  peer  with  honour,  truth  and  grace, 


56  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Look  in  that  breast,  most  dirty  dean  !  be  fair, 
Say,  can  you  find  out  one  such  lodger  there  ? 
Yet  still,  not  heeding  what  your  heart  can  teach, 
You  go  to  church  to  hear  these  flatterers  preach. 

Indeed,  could  wealth  bestow  or  wit  or  merit, 
A  grain  of  courage,  or  a  spark  of  spirit, 
The  wisest  man  might  blush,  I  must  agree, 
If  D***  loved  sixpence  more  than  he. 

If  there  be  truth  in  law,  and  use  can  give 
A  property,  that's  yours  on  which  you  live. 
Delightful  Abs-court,  if  its  fields  afford 
Their  fruits  to  you,  confesses  you  its  lord : 
All  Worldly's  hens,  nay,  partridge,  sold  to  town, 
His  venison  too  a  guinea  makes  your  own : 
He  bought  at  thousands,  what  with  better  wit, 
You  purchase  as  you  want,  and  bit  by  bit : 
Now,  or  long  since,  what  difference  will  be  found  I 
You  pay  a  penny,  and  he  paid  a  pound. 

Heathcote  himself,  and  such  large-acred  men, 
Lords  of  fat  E'sham,  or  of  Lincoln  fen, 
Buy  every  stick  of  wood  that  lends  them  heat ; 
Buy  every  pullet  they  afford  to  eat. 
Yet  these  are  wights,  who  fondly  call  their  own 
Half  that  the  devil  o'erlooks  from  Lincoln-town. 
The  laws  of  God,  as  well  as  of  the  land, 
Abhor  a  perpetuity  should  stand  : 
Estates  have  wings,  and  hang  in  fortune's  power, 
Loose  on  the  point  of  every  wavering  hour, 
Ready,  by  force,  or  of  your  own  accord, 
By  sale,  at  least  by  death,  to  change  their  lord. 
Man?  and  for  ever?  wretch !  what  wouldst  thou  have  I 
Heir  urges  heir,  like  wave  impelling  wave. 
All  vast  possessions  (just  the  same  the  case 
Whether  you  call  them  villa,  park,  or  chase,) 
Alas,  my  Bathurst !  what  will  they  avail  ? 
Join  Cotswood's  hills  to  Saperton's  fair  dale, 
Let  rising  granaries  and  temples  here, 
There  mingled  farms  and  pyramids  appear, 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  57 

Liufc  towns  to  towns  with  avenues  of  oak, 
Enclose  whole  downs  in  walls,  'tis  all  a  joke  ! 
nexorable  death  shall  level  all, 
And  trees,  and  stones,  and  farm,  and  farmer  fall. 

Gold,  silver,  ivory,  vases  sculptured  high, 
Paint,  marble,  gems,  and  robes  of  Persian  dve, 
There  are  who  have  not — and,  thank  Heaven !  there  ar* 
Who  if  they  have  not,  think  not  worth  their  care. 

Talk  what  you  will  of  taste,  my  friend,  you'll  find 
Two  of  a  face,  as  soon  as  of  a  mind. 
Why  of  two  brothers,  rich  and  restless  one 
Ploughs,  burns,  manures,  and  toils  from  sun  to  sun. 
The  other  slights,  for  women,  sports,  and  wines, 
All  Townshend's  turnips,  and  all  Grosvenor's  mines: 
Why  one  like  Bu**  with  pay  and  scorn  content, 
Bows  and  votes  on  in  court  and  parliament ; 
One,  driven  by  strong  benevolence  of  soul, 
Shall  fly  like  Oglethorpe,  from  pole  to  pole  ; 
Is  known  alone  to  that  Directing  Power, 
Who  forms  the  genius  in  the  natal  hour  ; 
That  God  of  nature,  who  within  us  still, 
Inclines  our  action,  not  constrains  our  will ; 
Various  of  temper,  as  efface  or  frame, 
Each  individual :  His  great  end  the  same. 

Yes,  sir,  how  small  soever  be  my  heap, 
A  part  I  will  enjoy,  as  well  as  keep. 
My  heir  may  sigh,  and  think  it  want  of  grace, 
A  man  so  poor  would  live  without  a  place  : 
But  sure  no  statute  in  his  favour  says, 
How  free  or  frugal  I  shall  pass  my  days  : 
I  who  at  some  times  spend,  at  others  spare, 
Divided  between  carelessness  and  care. 
'Tis  one  thing  madly  to  disperse  my  store ; 
Another,  not  to  heed  to  treasure  more  : 
Glad,  like  a  boy,  to  snatch  the  first  good  day 
And  pleased,  if  sordid  want  be  far  away. 

What  is  "t  to  me  (a  passenger  God  wot) 
Whether  my  vessel  be  first-rate  or  not  ? 

VOL.  II.  5 


58  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  ship  itself  may  make  a  better  figure ; 
But  I  that  sail  am  neither  less  nor  bigger : 
I  neither  strut  with  every  favouring  breath, 
Nor  strive  with  all  the  tempest  in  my  teeth. 
In  power,  wit,  figure,  virtue,  fortune,  placed 
Behind  the  foremost,  and  before  the  last. 

'  But  why  all  this  of  avarice  ?  I  have  none.' 
I  wish  you  joy,  sir,  of  a  tyrant  gone  ! 
But  does  no  other  lord  it  at  this  hour, 
As  wild  and  mad  ?  the  avarice  of  power  ? 
Does  neither  rage  inflame,  nor  fear  appal  ? 
Not  the  black  fear  of  death  that  saddens  all  ? 
With  terrors  round,  can  reason  hold  her  throne, 
Despise  the  known,  nor  tremble  at  the  unknown? 
Survey  both  worlds,  intrepid  and  entire, 
In  spite  of  witches,  devils,  dreams  and  fire  ? 
Pleased  to  look  forward,  pleased  to  look  behind, 
And  count  each  birth-day  with  a  grateful  mind  ? 
Has  life  no  sourness,  drawn  so  near  its  end  ? 
Canst  thou  endure  a  foe,  forgive  a  friend  ? 
Has  age  but  melted  the  rough  parts  away, 
As  winter-fruits  grow  mild  ere  they  decay  ? 
Or  will  you  think,  rny  friend,  your  business  done, 
When,  of  a  hundred  thorns,  you  pull  out  one? 

Learn  to  live  well,  or  fairly  make  your  will ; 
You've  play'd,  and  loved,  and  ate,  and  drank  your  fil 
Walk  sober  off,  before  a  sprightlier  age 
Comes  tittering  on,  and  shoves  you  from  the  stage 
Leave  such  to  trifle  with  more  grace  and  ease, 
Whom  folly  pleases,  and  whose  follies  please 


(59) 
THE 

SATIRES  OF  DR.  JOHN  DONNE, 

DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL'S, 

VERSIFIED. 

Quid  votat  et  nosmet  Lucili  scripta  legnnte? 
Qu.Ttero  num  illius,  num  re  rum  dura  negarit 
Versieulos  natura  magis  factos,  et  euntes 
Mollius?  HOR 

SATIRE  II. 

YES  ;  thank  my  stars !  as  early  as  I  knew 
This  town,  I  had  the  sense  to  hate  it  too : 
Vet  here,  as  e'en  in  hell,  there  must  be  still 
One  giant-vice,  so  excellently  ill. 
That  all  beside  one  pities,  not  abhors  : 
As  who  knows  Sappho,  smiles  at  other  whores. 

I  grant  that  poetry's  a  crying  sin  ; 
]t  brought  (no  doubt)  the  excise  and  army  in: 
Catch'd  like  the  plague,  or  love,  the  Lord  knows  how 
But  that  the  cure  is  starving,  all  allow. 
Yet  like  the  papist's,  is  the  poet's  state, 
Poor  and  disarm'd,  and  hardly  worth  your  hate? 

Here  a  lean  bard,  whose  wit  could  never  give 
Himself  a  dinner,  makes  an  actor  live  : 

SATIRE  II. 

SIR  ;  though  (T  thank  God  for  it)  I  do  hate 
Perfectly  allthis  town  :  yet  there's  one  state 
In  all  ill  things,  so  excellently  best, 
That  hate  tow'rds  them,  breeds  pity  tow'rds  the  rest 
Though  poetry,  indeed,  be  such  a  sin, 
As  I  think,  that  brings  dearth  and  Spaniards  in : 
Though  like  the  pestilence  and  old-fashion'd  love, 
Ridlingly  it  catch  men,  and  doth  remove 
Never,  till  it  be  starved  out ;  yet  their  state 
Is  poor,  disarm'd,  like  papists,  not  worth  hate. 

One  (like  a  wretch,  which  at  the  bar  judged  as  dead, 
Yet  prompts  him  which  stands  next,  and  cannot  read 
And  saves  his  life)  gives  idiot  actors  means 
(Starving  himself)  to  live  by's  labour'd  scenes. 


60  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  thief  condemn'd,  in  law  already  dead, 
So  prompts,  and  saves  a  rogue  who  cannot  read. 
Thus  as  the  pipes  of  some  carved  organ  move, 
The  gilded  puppets  dance  and  mount  above. 
Heaved  by  the  breath  the  inspiring  bellows  blow: 
The  inspiring  bellows  lie  and  pant  below 

One  sings  the  fair :  but  songs  no  longer  move  : 
No  rat  is  rhymed  to  death,  nor  maid  to  love : 
In  love's,  in  nature's  spite,  the  siege  they  hold, 
And  scorn  the  flesh,  the  devil,  and  all  but  gold. 

These  write  to  lords,  some  mean  reward  to  get, 
As  needy  beggars  sing  at  doors  for  meat. 
Those  write  because  all  write,  and  so  have  still 
Excuse  for  writing,  and  for  writing  ill. 
Wretched  indeed  !  but  far  more  wretched  yet 
Is  he  who  makes  his  meal  on  others'  wit : 
'Tis  changed,  no  doubt,  from  what  it  was  before ; 
His  rank  digestion  makes  it  wit  no  more  : 
Sense,  pass'd  through  him,  no  longer  is  the  same  ; 
For  food  digested  takes  another  name. 


As  in  some  organs  puppets  dance  above, 

And  as  bellows  pant  below,  which  then  do  move, 

One  would  move  love  by  rhymes ;  but  witchcraft'* 

charms 

Bring  not  now  their  old  fears,  nor  their  old  harms  : 
Rams  and  slings  now  are  silly  battery, 
Pistolets  are  the  best  artillery. 
And  they  who  write  to  lords,  rewards  to  get, 
Are  they  not  like  singers  at  doors  for  meat  ? 
And  they  who  write,  because  all  write,  have  still 
That  'scuse  for  writing,  and  for  writing  ill. 
But  he  is  worst,  who  beggarly  doth  chaw 
Other  wits'  fruits,  and  in  his  ravenous  maw 
Rankly  digested,  doth  those  things  out-spue, 
As   his    own   things ;   and   they're    his   own,  'tis 

true; 

For  if  one  eat  my  meat,  though  it  be  known 
The  meat  was  mine,  the  excrement's  his  own. 


SATIRES  OF  DONNE.  61 

I  pass  o'er  all  those  confessors  and  martyrs, 
Who  live  like  S— tt— n,  or  who  die  like  Chartres, 
Out-cant  old  Esdras,  or  out-drink  his  heir  ; 
Out-usure  Jews,  or  Irishmen  out-swear; 
Wicked  as  pages,  who  in  early  years 
Act  sins  which  Prisca's  confessor  scarce  hears. 
E'en  those  I  pardon,  for  whose  sinful  sake 
Schoolmen  new  tenements  in  hell  must  make; 
Of  whose  strange  crimes  no  canonist  can  tell 
In  what  commandment's  large  contants  they  dwell. 

One,  one  man  only  breeds  my  just  offence  ; 
Whom  crimes  gave  wealth,  and  wealth  gave  impu 
dence  : 

Time,  that  at  last  matures  a  clap  to  pox, 
Whose  gentle  progress  makes  a  calf  an  ox, 
And  brings  all  natural  events  to  pass, 
Hath  made  him  an  attorney  of  an  ass. 
No  young  divine,  new-beneficed,  can  be 
More  pert,  more  proud,  more  positive  than  he. 
What  further  could  I  wish  the  fop  to  do, 
But  turn  a  wit,  and  scribble  verses  too  ? 
Pierce  the  soft  labyrinth  of  a  lady's  ear 
With  rhymes  of  this  per  cent,  and  that  per  year  ? 

But  these  do  me  no  harm,  nor  they  which  use, 

to  out-usure  Jews, 

To  out-drink  the  sea,  t'  outswear  the  letanie, 
Who  with  sins  all  kinds  as  familiar  be 
As  confessors,  and  for  whose  sinful  sake 
Schoolmen  new  tenements  in  hell  must  make ; 
Whose  strange  sins  canonists  could  hardly  tell 
In  which  commandment's  large  receit  they  dwell. 

But  these  punish  themselves.     The  insolence 
Of  Coscus,  only,  breeds  my  just  offence, 
Who  time  (which  rots  all,  and  makes  botches  pox, 
And  plodding  on,  must  make  a  calf  an  ox) 
Hath  made  a  lawyer;  which  (alas)  of  late; 
But  scarce  a  poet :  jollier  of  this  state, 
Than  are  new  beneticed  ministers,  he  throws 
Like  nets  or  lime-twigs  whereso'er  he  goes 


62  POPE'S  POETICAL  WO11KS. 

Or  court  a  wife,  spread  out  his  wily  parts, 

Like  nets,  or  lime-twigs,  for  rich  widows'  hearts; 

Call  himself  barrister  to  every  wench, 

And  woo  in  language  of  the  Pleas  and  Bench  ? 

Language,  which  Boreas  might  to  Auster  hold, 

More  rough  than  forty  Germans  when  they  scold. 

Cursed  be  the  wretch,  so  venal  and  so  vain : 
Paltry  and  proud,  as  drabs  in  Drury-lane. 
'Tis  such  a  bounty  as  was  never  known, 
If  Peter  deigns  fo  help  you  to  your  own  : 
What  thanks,  what  praise,  if  Peter  but  supplies ! 
And  what  a  solemn  face,  if  he  denies  ! 
Grave,  as  when  prisoners  shake  the  head  and  sweat 
'Twas  only  suretyship  that  brought  them  there. 
His  office  keeps  your  parchment  fates  entire, 
He  starves  with  cold  to  save  them  from  the  fire : 
For  you  he  walks  the  streets  through  rain  or  dust, 
For  not  in  chariots  Peter  puts  his  trust; 
For  you  he  sweats  and  labours  at  the  laws, 
Takes  God  to  witness  he  afl'ects  your  cause, 
And  lies  to  every  lord  in  every  thing, 
Like  a  king's  favourite — or  like  a  king. 


His  title  of  barrister  on  every  wench, 
And  wooes  in  language  of  the  Pleas  and  Bench.*  * 
*         *        *        Words,  words  which  would  tear 
The  tender  labyrinth  of  a  maid's  soft  ear  : 
More,  more  than  ten  Sclavonians  scolding,  more 
Than  when  winds  in  our  ruin'd  abbeys  roar. 
Then  sick  with  poetry,  and  possess'd  with  muse 
Thou  wast,  and  mad  I  hoped ;  but  men  which  chuso 
Law  practice  for  mere  gain  :  bold  soul  repute 
Worse  than  imbrothel'd  strumpets  prostitute. 
Now  like  an  owl-like  watchman  he  must  walk, 
His  hand  still  at  a  bill ;  now  he  must  talk 
Idly,  like  prisoners,  which  whole  months  will  swo&f 
That  only  suretyship  had  brought  them  there, 
And  to  every  suitor  lye  in  every  tiling, 
Like  a  king's  favourite — or  like  a  kirtg. 


SATIRES  OF  DONNE.  63 

These  are  the  talents  that  adorn  them  all, 
From  wicked  Waters  e'en  to  godly  *  * 
Not  more  of  simony  beneath  black  gowns, 
Not  more  of  bastardy  in  heirs  to  crowns. 
In  shillings  and  in  pence  at  first  they  deal ; 
And  steal  so  little,  few  perceive  they  steal : 
Till,  like  the  sea,  they  compass  all  the  land, 
From  Scots  to  Wight,  from  Mount  to  Dover  strand 
And  when  rank  widows  purchase  luscious  nights, 
Or  when  a  duke  to  Jansen  punts  at  White's, 
Or  city  heir  in  mortgage  melts  away, 
Satan  himself  feels  far  less  joy  than  they. 
Piecemeal  they  win  this  acre  first,  then  that, 
Glean  on,  and  gather  up  the  whole  estate ; 
Then  strongly  fencing  ill-got  wealth  by  law, 
Indentures,  covenants,  articles  they  draw, 
I>arge  as  the  fields  themselves,  and  larger  far 
Than  civil  codes,  with  all  their  glosses,  are ; 
So  vast,  our  new  divines,  we  must  confess, 
Are  fathers  of  the  church  for  writing  less. 

Like  a  wedge  in  a  block,  wring  to  the  barre, 
Bearing  like  asses,  and  more  shameless  farre 
Than  carted  whores,  lye  to  the  grave  judge  :  for 
Bastardy  abounds  not  in  king's  titles,  nor 
Simony  and  Sodomy  in  churchmen's  lives, 
As  these  things  do  in  him ;  by  these  he  thrives. 
Shortly  (as  th'  sea)  he'll  compass  all  the  land, 
From  Scots  to  Wight,  from  Mount  to  Dover  strand 
And  spying  heirs  melting  with  luxury, 
Satan  will  not  joy  at  their  sins  as  he ; 
For  (as  a  thrifty  wench  scrapes  kitchen-stufle, 
And  barrelling  the  droppings  and  the  snuffe 
Of  wasting  candles,  which  in  thirty  year, 
Reliquely  kept,  perchance  buys  wedding  cheer) 
Piecemeal  he  gets  lands,  and  spends  as  much  time 
Wringing  each  acre,  as  maids  pulling  prime. 
In  parchment  then,  large  as  the  fields,  he  draws 
Assurances,  big  as  gloss'd  civil  laws, 
So  huge  that  men  (in  our  times  forwardness) 
Are  fathers  of  (he  church  for  writing  less. 


64  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

So  Luther  thought  the  Pater-noster  long, 
When  doom'd  to  say  his  beads  and  even-song  , 
But  having  cast  his  cow],  and  left  those  laws, 
Adds  to  Christ's  prayer,  the  power  and  glory  clause 
But  let  them  write  for  you,  each  rogue  impairs 
The  deeds,  and  dexterously  omits  ses  heires : 
No  commentator  can  more  slily  pass 
Over  a  learn'd  unintelligible  place  : 
Or,  in  quotation,  shrewd  divines  leave  out 
Those  words  that  would  against  them  clear  the 
doubt. 

The  lands  are  bought ;  but  where  are  to  be  found 
Those  ancient  woods,  that  shaded  all  the  ground  ? 
We  see  no  new-built  palaces  aspire, 
No  kitchens  emulate  the  vestal  fire. 
Where  are  those  troops  of  poor,  that  throng'd  of 

yore 

The  good  old  landlord's  hospitable  door? 
Well,  I  could  wish,  that  still  in  lordly  domes 
Some  beasts  were  kill'd,  though  not  whole  hecatomb* 
That  both  extremes  were  banish'd  from  their  walls, 
Carthusian  fasts,  and  fulsome  bacchanals  ; 

These  he  writes  not ;  nor  for  these  written  payes, 
Therefore  spares  no  length  (as  in  those  first  dayes 
When  Luther  was  profcss'd,  he  did  desire 
Short  Pater-nosters,  saying  as  a  fryer 
Each  day  his  beads :  but  having  left  those  laws, 
Adds  to  Christ's  prayer,  the  power  and  glory  clause 
But  when  he  sells  or  changes  land,  he  impaires 
The  writings,  and  (unwatch'd)  leaves  out  ses  heires 
As  slily  as  any  commentator  goes  by 
Hard  words,  or  sense  ;  or,  in  divinity, 
As  controverters  in  vouch'd  texts,  leave  out 
Shrewd  words,  which  might  against  them  clear  the 

doubt. 
Where  are  these  spread  woods  which  cloathed 

heretofore 

Trios?  bought  lands?  not  built,  nor  burnt  within  door 
Wh-v.s  the  old  landlords  troops  and  almes?  In  hall» 
Cart.iusian  fasts,  and  fulsome  bacchanals 


ir 


SATIRES  OF  DONNE.  65 

And  all  mankind  might  that  just  mean  observe, 
In  which  none  e'er  could  surfeit,  none  could  starve, 
These  as  good  works,  'tis  true,  we  all  allow, 
But,  oh !  these  works  are  not  in  fashion  now 
Like  rich  old  wardrobes,  things  extremely  rare, 
Extremely  fine,  but  what  no  man  will  wear. 

Thus  much  I've  said,  I  trust,  without  offence; 
Let  no  court  sycophant  pervert  my  sense, 
Nor  sly  informer  watch  these  words  to  draw 
Within  the  reach  of  treason,  or  the  law. 

SATIRE  IV. 

WELL,  if  it  be  my  time  to  quit  the  stage, 
Adieu  to  all  the  follies  of  the  age ! 
I  die  in  charity  with  fool  and  knave, 
Secure  of  peace  at  least  beyond  the  grave. 
I  've  had  my  purgatory  here  betimes, 
And  paid  for  all  my  satires,  all  my  rhymes. 
The  poet's  hell,  its  tortures,  fiends,  and  flames, 
To  this  were  trifles,  toys,  and  empty  names. 

With  foolish  pride  my  heart  was  never  fired, 
Nor  the  vain  itch  to  admire,  or  be  admired  : 
I  hoped  for  no  commission  from  his  grace; 
I  bought  no  benefice,  I  bcgg'd  no  place  : 


Equally  I  hate.  Means  bless'd.  In  rich  men's  homes 
I  bid  kill  some  beasts,  but  no  hecatombs ; 
None  starve,  none  surfeit  so.     But  (oh)  we  allow 
Good  works  as  good,  but  out  of  fashion  now, 
Like  old  rich  wardrobes.  But  my  words  none  drawa 
Within  the  vast  reach  of  tho  huge  statute's  jawes. 

SATIRE  IV. 

WELL;  I  may  now  receive,  and  die.     My  sin 
Indeed  is  great ;  but  yet  I  have  been  in 
A  purgatory,  such  as  fear'd  Hell  is 
A  recreation,  and  scant  map  of  this. 

My  mind,  neither  with  pride's  itch,  nor  hath  been 
Poyson'd  with  love  to  see  or  to  be  seen ; 


66  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Had  no  new  verses,  nor  new  suit  to  show, 

Yet  went  to  court! — the  devil  would  have  it  so 

But,  as  the  fool  that  in  reforming  days 

Would  go  to  mass  in  jest  (as  story  says) 

Could  not  but  think,  to  pay  his  fine  was  odd, 

Since  'twas  no  form'd  design  of  serving  God , 

So  was  I  punish'd,  as  if  full  as  proud, 

As  prone  to  ill,  as  negligent  of  good, 

As  deep  in  debt,  without  a  thought  to  pay, 

As  vain,  as  idle,  and  as  false,  as  they 

WTho  live  at  court,  for  going  once  that  way 

Scarce  was  I  enter'd,  when,  behold !  there  came 

A  thing  which  Adam  had  been  posed  to  name  ; 

Noah  had  refused  it  lodging  in  his  ark, 

Where  all  the  race  of  reptiles  might  embark : 

A  verier  monster,  than  on  Afric's  shore, 

The  sun  e'er  got,  or  slimy  Nilus  bore, 

Or  Sloan  or  Woodward's  wondrous  shelves  contain, 

Nay,  all  that  lying  travellers  can  feign.      * 

The  watch  would  hardly  let  him  pass  at  noon, 

At  night  would  swear  him  dropp'd  out  of  the  moon; 

I  had  no  suit  there,  nor  new  suit  to  show, 
Yet  went  to  court ;  but  as  Glare  which  did  go 
To  mass  in  jest,  catch'd,  was  fain  to  disburse 
Two  hundred  markes  which  is  the  statutes  curse, 
Before  he  scaped ;  so  it  pleased  my  destiny 
'Guilty  of  my  sin  of  going)  to  think  me 
As  prone  to  all  ill,  and  good  as  forget 
ful,  as  proud,  lustful,  and  as  much  in  debt, 
As  vain,  as  witless,  and  as  false,  as  they 
Which  dwell  in  court,  for  once  going  that  way. 
Therefore  I  suffer'd  this  :  towards  me  did  run 
A  thing  more  strange^than  on  Nile's  slime  the  sun 
E'er  bred,  or  all  which  into  Noah's  ark  came ; 
A  thing  which  would  have  posed  Adam  to  name  : 
Stranger  than  seven  antiquaries'  studies, 
Than  Africk  monsters,  Guianaes  rarities, 
Stranger  than  strangers :  one  who,  for  a  Dane, 
In  the  Danes'  massacre  had  sure  been  slain, 
If  he  had  lived  then  ;  and  without  help  dies, 


SATIRES  OF  DONNE.  €7 

One,  whom  the  mob,  when  next  wo  find  or  make 
A  popish  plot,  shall  for  a  Jesuit  take, 
And  the  wise  justice  starting  from  his  chair 
Cry, '  By  your  priesthood  tell  me  what  you  are?' 

Such  was  the  wight:  the  apparel  on  his  back, 
Tho'  coarse,  was  reverend,  and  though  bare,  was  black  • 
The  suit,  if  by  the  fashion  one  might  guess, 
Was  velvet  in  the  youth  of  good  queen  Bess, 
But  mere  tuff-taffety  what  now  remain'd ; 
So  time,  that  changes  all  things,  had  ordain'd ! 
Our  sons  shall  see  it  leisurely  decay, 
First  turn  plain  rash,  then  vanish  quite  away. 

This  thing  has  travell'd,  speaks  each  language  too, 
And  knows  what's  fit  for  every  state  to  do; 
Of  whose  best  phrase  and  courtly  accent  join'd, 
He  forms  one  tongue,  exotic  and  refined. 
Talkers  I've  learn'd  to  bsar;  Morteux  I  knew, 
Henley  himself  I  've  heard,  and  Budgel  too. 
The  doctor's  wormwood  style,  the  hash  of  tongues 
A  pedant  makes,  the  storm  of  Gonson's  lungs, 
The  whole  artillery  of  the  terms  of  war, 
And  (all  those  plagues  in  one)  the  bawling  bar; 

When  next  the  'prentices  'gainst  strangers  rise ; 
One,  whom  the  watch  at  noon  scarce  lets  go  by: 
One,  to  whom  the  examining  justice  sure  would  cry 

Sir,  by  your  priesthood,  tell  me  what  you  are?' 
His  clothes  were  strange,  though  coarse,  and  black, 

though  bare, 

Sleeveless  his  jerkin  was,  and  had  it  been 
Velvet,  but  'twas  now,  (so  much  ground  was  seen) 
Become  tuff-tafTety  ;  and  our  children  shall 
See  it  plain  rash  a  while,  then  nought  at  all. 

The  thing  hath  travail'd,  and  faith,  speaks  all  tongues 
And  only  knoweth  what  to  all  states  belongs, 
Made  of  the  accents,  and  best  phrase  of  all  these 
He  speaks  out;  language.    If  strange  meats  displease, 
Art  can  deceive,  or  hunger  force  my  taste; 
But  pedants  motly  tongue,  soldiers  bumbasl, 
Mountebanks  drug-tongue,  nor  the  terms  of  law, 
Are  strong  enough  preparatives  to  draw 


68 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


These  I  could  bear ;  but  not  a  rogue  so  civil, 
Whose  tongue  will  compliment  you  to  the  dovil. 
A  tongue  that  can  cheat  widows,  cancel  scores, 
Make  Scots  speak  treason,  cozen  subtlest  whores, 
With  royal  favourites  in  flattery  vie, 
And  Oldmixon  and  Burnet  both  outlie. 

He  spies  me  out;  I  whisper,  'Gracious  God  ! 
What  sin  of  mine  could  merit  such  a  rod  ? 
That  all  the  shot  of  dulness  now  must  bo 
From  this  thy  blunderbuss  discharged  on  me  !' 

'  Permit,'  he  cries, '  no  stranger  to  your  fame 

To  crave  your  sentiment,  if 's  your  name. 

What  speech  esteem  you  most  ?'  '  The  king's,'  said  I 
'  But  the  best  words  ?' — '  O,  sir,  the  dictionary.' 
1  You  miss  my  aim !  I  mean  the  most  acute 
And  perfect  speaker?' — '  Onslow,  past  dispute.' 
'  But,  sir,  of  writers  ?' — '  Swift,  for  closer  style, 
But  Hoadly  for  a  period  of  a  mile.' 
'  Why  yes,  'tis  granted,  these  indeed  may  pass ; 
Good  common  linguists,  and  so  Panurge  was ;' 


Me  to  hear  this  ;  yet  I  must  be  content 

With  his  tongue,  in  his  tongue  call'd  complement : 

In  which  he  can  win  widows,  and  pay  scores, 

Make  men  speak  treason,  couzcn  subtlest  whores, 

Outflatter  favourites,  or  outlie  either 

Jovius,  or  Surius,  or  both  together. 

He  names  me,  and  comes  to  me;  I  whisper,  God, 
How  have  I  sinn'd  that  thy  wrath's  furious  rod, 
This  fellow,  chooseth  me!  he  saith,  '  Sir, 
I  love  your  judgment,  whom  do  you  prefer 
For  the  best  linguist  ?'  and  I  seelily 
Said  that  I  thought  Calepine's  dictionary. 
'Nay,  but  of  men,  most  sweet  sir?'  Beza  then, 
Some  Jesuits,  and  two  reverend  men 
Of  our  two  academies  I  named.     Here 
He  stopp'd  me,  and  said,  '  Nay  your  apostles  were 
Good  pretty  linguists;  so  Panurgus  was, 
Vet  a  poor  gentleman  ;  all  these  may  pass 


SATIRES  OF  DONNE.  Gtf 

Nay,  troth,  the  apostles  (though  perhaps  too  rough) 
Had  once  a  pretty  gift  of  tongues  enough : 
Yet  these  were-  all  poor  gentlemen !  I  dare 
Affirm,  'twas  travel  made  them  what  they  weie.' 

Thus,  others'  talents  having  nicely  shown, 
He  came  by  sure  transition  to  his  own : 
Till  I  cried  out, '  You  prove  yourself  so  able 
Pity  !  you  was  not.  Druggerman  at  Babel ; 
For  had  they  found  a  linguist  half  so  good, 
I  make  no  question  but  the  tower  had  stood.' 

'  Obliging  sir!  for  courts  you  sure  were  made: 
Why  then  for  ever  buried  in  the  shade  ? 
Spirits  like  you,  should  see  and  should  be  seen, 
The  king  would  smile  on  you — at  least  the  queen. 
Ah,  gentle  sir  !  your  courtiers  so  cajole  us — 
But  Tully  has  it,  Nunquam  minus  solus: 
And  as  for  courts,  forgive  me,  if  I  say 
No  lessons  now  are  taught  the  Spartan  way: 
Though  in  his  pictures  lust  be  full  display'd, 
Few  are  the  converts  Aretine  has  made  ; 
And  though  the  court  show  vice  exceeding  clear, 
None  should,  by  my  advice,  learn  virtue  there.' 

At  this  entranced,  he  lifts  his  hands  and  eyes, 
Squeaks  like  a  high-stretch'd  lutestring,  and  replies 
'  Oh,  'tis  the  sweetest  of  all  earthly  things 
To  gaze  on  princes,  and  to  talk  of  kings !' 


By  travail.'   Then,  as  if  he  would  sold 

His  tongue,  he  praised  it,  and  such  wonders  told, 

That  I  was  fain  to  say,  '  If  you  had  lived,  sir, 

Time  enough  to  have  been  interpreter 

To  Babel's  bricklayers,  sure  the  tower  had  stood,' 

He  adds,  '  If  of  court  life  you  knew  the  good, 
You  would  leave  toneless.'     I  said,  '  Not  alone 
My  loneless  is  ;  but  Spartanes  fashion 
To  teach  by  painting  drunkards  doth  not  last 
Now,  Aretine's  pictures  have  made  few  chaste  ; 
No  more  can  princes  courts  (though  there  be  few 
Better  pictures  of  vice)  teach  me  virtue.' 

He  like  to  a  high-stretch'd  lutestring  squeaks, '  O  sit 
Tis  sweet  to  talk  of  kinps.'     '  At  Westminster ' 


70  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

'Then  happy  man  who  shows  the  tombs  !'  said  1, 
'He  dwells  amidst  the  royal  family; 
He  every  day  from  king  to  king  can  walk, 
Of  all  our  Harrys,  all  our  Edwards  talk; 
And  get,  by  speaking  truth  of  monarchs  dead, 
What  few  can  of  the  living — ease  and  bread.' 
'  Lord,  sir,  a  mere  mechanic  !  strangely  low, 
And  coarse  of  phrase, — your  English  all  are  so 
How  elegant  your  Frenchmen !'  'Mine  d'ye  mean  ' 
I  have  but  one  ;  I  hope  the  fellow  's  clean.' 
'  O  !  sir,  politely  so  !  nay,  let  me  die, 
Your  only  wearing  is  your  paduasoy.' 
'Not,  sir,  my  only,  I  have  better  still, 
And  this  you  see  is  but  my  deshabille — 
Wild  to  get  loose,  his  patience  I  provoke, 
Mistake,  confound,  object  at  all  he  spoke. 
But  as  coarse  iron,  sharpen'd,  mangles  more, 
And  itch  most  hurts  when  anger'd  to  a  sore  ; 
So  when  you  plague  a  fool,  'tis  still  the  curse, 
You  only  make  the  matter  worse  and  worse. 

He  pass'd  it  o'er ;  affects  an  easy  smile 
At  all  my  peevishness,  and  turns  his  style. 

Said  I,  '  the  man  that  keeps  the  Abbey-tombs 
And  for  his  price,  doth  with  whoever  comes 
Of  all  our  Harrys  and  our  Edwards  talk, 
from  king  to  king,  and  all  their  kin  can  walk  : 
'V:  our  ears  shall  hear  nought  but  kings  ;  your  eyes  meet 
Kings  only :  the  way  to  it  is  King-street.' 
Hesmack'd,  and  cried, '  He's  base,  mechanique  coarse, 
So  are  all  your  Englishmen  in  their  discourse. 
Are  not  your  Frenchmen  neat  ?'  '  ?tline,  as  you  see, 
\  have  but  one,  sir,  look,  he  follows  mo." 
Certes  they  are  neatly  cloathed.     I  of  this  mind  am 
i'our  only  wearing  is  your  grogaram.' 
'  Not  so,  sir,  I  have  more.'     Under  this  pitch 
He  would  not  fly  :  I  chafY'd  him  :  but  as  itch 
Scratch'd  into  smart,  and  as  blunt  iron  ground 
Into  an  edge,  hurts  worse :  So,  I  (fool)  found. 
Crossing  hurt  me.     To  fit  my  sullenn  3ss, 
He  to  another  key  his  style  doth  dress : 


SATIRES  OF  DONNE.  * 

He  asks, '  What  news  ?'  I  tell  him  of  new  plays, 

New  eunuchs,  harlequins,  and  operas. 

He  hears,  and  as  a  still  with  simples  in  it, 

Between  each  drop  it  gives,  stays  half  a  minute, 

Loath  to  enrich  me  with  too  quick  replies, 

By  little,  and  by  little,  drops  his  lies. 

Mere  household  trash  !  of    birthnights,   balls,  and 

shows, 

More  than  ten  Hollinsheds,  or  Halls,  or  Stowes. 
When  the  queen  frown'd,  or  smiled,  he  knows  ;  and 

what 

A  subtle  minister  may  make  of  that : 
Who  sins  with  whom  :  who  got  his  pension  rug, 
Or  quicken'd  a  reversion  by  a  drug  : 
Whose  place  is  quarter'd  out,  three  parts  in  four, 
And  whether  to  a  bishop,  or  a  whore  : 
Who,  having  lost  his  credit,  pawn'd  his  rent, 
Is  therefore  fit  to  have  a  government : 
Who,  in  the  secret,  deals  in  stocks  secure, 
And  cheats  the  unknowing  widow  and  the  poor : 
Who  makes  a  trust  of  charity  a  job, 
And  gets  an  act  of  parliament  to  rob: 
Why  turnpikes  rise,  and  now  no  cit  nor  clown 
Can  gratis  see  the  country,  or  the  town  : 

Ana  asks  what  news ;  I  tell  him  of  new  playes. 
He  takes  my  hand,  and  as  a  still,  which  stayes 
A  sembrief  'twixt  each  drop,  he  niggardly, 
As  loth  to  enrich  me,  so  tells  many  a  ly. 
More  than  ten  Hollensheds,  or  Halls,  or  Stows, 
Of  trivial  household  trash,  he  knows.     He  knows 
When  the  queen  frown'd  or  smiled  !  and  he  knows 

what 

A  subtle  statesman  may  gather  of  that : 
He  knows  who  loves  whom  :  and  who  by  poison 
Hastes  to  an  officer's  reversion  ; 
Who  wastes  in  meat,  in  clothes,  in  horse,  he  notes ; 
Who  loveth  whores     ******* 
He  knows  who  hath  sold  his  lands,  and  now  doth  bej 
A  licence,  old  iron,  boots,  shoes,  and  egge- 
Shells  to  transport ;     ****** 


72  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Shortly  no  lad  shall  chuck,  or  lady  vole, 
But  some  excising  courtier  will  have  toll. 
He  tells  what  strumpet  places  sells  for  life, 
What  'squire  his  lands,  what  citizen  his  wife  : 
At  last  (which  proves  him  wiser  still  than  all) 
What  lady's  face  is  not  a  whited  wall. 

As  one  of  Woodward's  patients,  sick  and  sore, 
I  puke,  I  nauseate, — yet  he  thrusts  in  more  : 
Trims  Europe's  balance,  tops  the  statesman's  part, 
And  talks  gazettes  and  postboys  o'er  by  heart. 
Like  a  big  wife  at  sight  of  loathsome  meat, 
Ready  to  cast,  I  yawn,  I  sigh,  I  sweat. 
Then  as  a  licensed  spy,  who  nothing  can 
Silence  or  hurt,  he  libels  every  man  ; 
Swears  every  place  entail'd  for  years  to  come, 
In  sure  succession  to  the  day  of  doom : 
He  names  the  price  of  every  office  paid, 
And  says  our  wars  thrive  ill,  because  delay'd : 


******    snortiy  boys  shall  not  play 
At  span-counter,  or  blow-point,  but  shall  pay 
Toll  to  some  courtier ;  and  wiser  than  all  us, 
He  knows  what  lady  is  not  painted.     Thus 
He  with  home   meats  cloys  me.     I  belch,  spue 

spit, 

Look  pale  and  sickly,  like  a  patient,  yet 
He  thrusts  on  more,  and  as  he  had  undertook, 
To  say  Gallo  Belgicus  without  book, 
Speaks  of  all  states  and  deeds  that  have  been  s  nee 
The  Spaniards  came  to  the  loss  of  Amyens. 
Like  a  big  wife,  at  sight  of  loathed  meat, 
Ready  to  travail :  so  I  sigh,  and  sweat 
To  hear  this  makaron  talk :  in  vain,  for  yet, 
Either  my  humour,  or  his  own  to  fit, 
He,  like  a  privileged  spie,  whom  nothing  can 
Discredit,  rebels  now  gainst  each  great  man. 
He  names  the  price  of  every  office  paid  ; 
He  saitli  our  wars  thrive  ill,  because  delaid : 
That  offices  are  entailed,  and  that  there  are 
Perpetuities  of  them,  lasting  as  far 


SATIRES  OF  DONNE.  73 

Nay  hints,  'tis  by  connivance  of  the  court, 
That  Spain  robs  on,  and  Dunkirk's  still  a  port. 
Not  more  amazement  seized  on  Circe's  guests, 
To  see  themselves  fall  headlong  into  beasts, 
Than  mine  to  find  a  subject  staid  and  wise 
Already  half  turn'd  traitor  by  surprise. 
I  felt  the  infection  slide  from  him  to  me ; 
As  in  the  pox,  some  give  it  to  get  free ; 
And  quick  to  swallow  me,  methought  I  saw 
One  of  our  giant  statutes  ope  its  jaw. 
In  that  nice  moment,  as  another  lie 
Stood  just  a-tilt,  the  minister  came  by. 
To  him  he  flies,  and  bows,  and  bows  again, 
Then,  close  as  Umbra,  joins  the  dirty  train. 
Not  Fannius'  self  more  impudently  near, 
When  half  his  nose  is  in  his  prince's  ear. 


As  the  last  day  ;  and  that  great  officers 

Do  with  the  Spaniards  share,  and  Dunkirkera. 

I  more  amazed  than  Circe's  prisoners,  when 
They  felt  themselves  turn  beasts,  felt  myself  then 
Becoming  traytor,  and  methought  I  saw 
One  of  our  giant  statutes  ope  its  jaw 
To  suck  me  in  for  hearing  him  :  I  found 
That  as  burnt  venemous  leachers  do  grow  sound 
By  giving  others  their  sores,  I  might  grow 
Guilty,  and  be  free  :  therefore  I  did  show 
All  signs  of  loathing  ;  but  since  I  am  in, 
I  must  pay  mine,  and  my  forefathers  sin 
To  the  last  farthing.     Therefore  to  my  power 
Toughly  and  stubbornly  I  bear ;  but  the  hower 
Of  mercy  now  was  come  .  he  tries  to  bring 
Me  to  pay  a  fine  to  'scape  a  torturing  ; 
And  says,  'Sir,  can  you  spare  me — ?'  I  said,  'Willingly' 
'  Nay,  sir,  can  you  spare  me  a  crown  ?'  Thankfully  I 
Gave  it,  as  ransom  :  but  as  fiddlers,  still, 
Though  they  be  paid  to  be  gone,  yet  needs  will 
Thrust  one  more  jigg  upon  you  ;  so  did  he 
With  his  long  complimented  thanks  vex  me. 
But  he  is  gone,  thanks  to  his  needy  want, 
And  the  prerogative  of  my  crown  :  scant 

VOL.  II.  6 


74  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

I  quaked  at  heart :  and,  still  afraid  to  see 
All  the  court  fill'd  with  stranger  things  than  he, 
Ran  out  as  fast  as  one  that  pays  his  bail, 
And  dreads  more  actions,  hurries  from  a  jail. 

Bear  me,  some  god  !  oh  quickly  bear  me  hence 
To  wholesome  solitude,  the  nurse  of  sense  ! 
Where  contemplation  prunes  her  ruffled  wings, 
And  the  free  soul  looks  down  to  pity  kings  ! 
There  sober  thought  pursued  the  amazing  theme, 
Till  fancy  colour'd  it,  and  form'd  a  dream. 
A  vision  hermits  can  to  hell  transport, 
And  forced  e'en  me  to  see  the  damn'd  at  court. 
Not  Dante,  dreaming  all  the  infernal  state, 
Beheld  such  scenes  of  envy,  sin,  and  hate. 
Base  fear  becomes  the  guilty,  not  the  free ; 
Suits  tyrants,  plunderers,  but  suits  not  me: 
Shall  I,  the  terror  of  this  sinful  town, 
Care,  if  a  liveried  lord  or  smile  or  frown  ? 
Who  cannot  flatter,  and  detest  who  can, 
Tremble  before  a  noble  serving-man  ? 

0  my  fair  mistress,  Truth  !  shall  I  quit  thee 
For  huffing,  braggart,  pufl  nobility  ? 

Thou,  who  since  yesterday  hast  roll'd  o'er  all 
The  busy,  idle  blockheads  of  the  ball, 

His  thanks  were  ended,  when  I  (which  did  see 
All  the  court  fill'd  with  more  strange  things  than  he 
Ran  from  thence  with  such,  or  more  haste  than  one 
Who  fears  more  actions,  doth  hast  from  prison. 

At  home  in  wholesome  solitariness 
My  piteous  soul  began  the  wretchedness 
Of  suitors  at  court  to  mourn  ;  and  a  trance 
Like  his,  who  dreamt  he  saw  hell,  did  advance 
itself  o'er  me  ;  such  men  as  he  saw  there 

1  saw  at  court,  and  worse  and  more.     Lo  fear 
Hecomes  the  guilty,  not  the  accuser :  Then, 
Shall  I,  none's  slave,  of  highborn  or  raised  men 
Fear  frowns  ;  and  my  mistress  Truth,  betray  thee 
For  the  huffing,  bragart,  pufl  nobility  ? 

No,  no,  thou  which  since  yesterday  has  been 
Almost  about  the  whole  world,  hast  thou  seen, 


SATIRES  OF  DONNE. 


75 


Hast  thou,  oh  Sun  !  beheld  an  emptier  sort, 
Than  such  as  swell  this  bladder  of  a  court  ? 
Now  pox  on  those  that  show  a  court  in  wax  ! 
It  ought  to  bring  all  courtiers  on  their  backs  : 
Such  painted  puppets  !  such  a  varnish'd  race 
Of'hollow  gewgaws,  only  dross  and  face  ! 
Such  waxen  noses,  stately  staring  things — 
No  wonder  some  folks  bow,  and  think  them  kings. 
See  !  where  the  British  youth,  engaged  no  more, 
At  Fig's,  at  White's,  with  felons,  or  a  whore, 
Pay  their  last  duty  to  the  court,  and  come 
All  fresh  and  fragrant,  to  the  drawing-room  ; 
In  hues  as  gay,  and  odours  as  divine, 
As  the  fair  fields  they  sold  to  look  so  fine. 
1  That 's  velvet  for  a  king !'  the  flatterer  swears  ; 
'Tis  true  ;  for  ten  days  hence  'twill  be  king  Lear's. 
Our  court  may  justly  to  our  stage  give  rules, 
That  helps  it  both  to  fools'  coats  and  to  fools. 
And  why  not  players  strut  in  courtiers'  clothes  ? 
For  these  arc  actors  too,  as  well  as  those  : 


O  Sun,  in  all  thy  journey,  vanity, 

Such  as  swells  the  bladder  of  our  court  ?  1 

Think  he  which  made  your  waxen  garden,  and 

Transported  it  from  Italy,  to  stand 

With  us,  at  London,  flouts  our  courtiers;  for 

Just  such  gay  painted  things,  which  no  sap,  nor 

Taste  have  in  them,  ours  are  :  and  natural 

Some  of  the  stocks  are ;  their  fruits  bastard  all. 

'Tis  ten  o'clock  and  past ;  all  whom  the  mues, 
Baloun,  or  tennis,  diet,  or  the  stews 
Hud  all  the  morning  held,  now  the  second 
Time  made  ready,  that  day,  in  flocks  are  found 
In  the  presence  ;  and  1  (God  pardon  me) 
As  fresh  and  sweet  their  apparels  be,  as  be 
Their  fields  they  sold  to  buy  them.     For  a  king 
Those  hose  are,  cried  the  flatterers  :  and  bring 
Them  next  week  to  the  theatre  to  sell. 
Wants  reach  all  states :  me  seems  they  do  as  well 
At  stage,  as  courts  :  all  are  players.     Whoe'er  looks 
'For  themselves  dare  not  go)  o'er  Cheapside  books, 


76  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Wants  reach  all  states  :  they  bog  hut  better  dress'd, 
And  all  is  splendid  poverty  at  best. 

Painted  for  sight,  and  essenced  for  the  smell, 
Like  frigates  fraught  with  spice  and  cochineal, 
Sail  in  the  ladies  :  how  each  pirate  eyes 
So  weak  a  vessel,  and  so  rich  a  prize  ! 
Top-gallant  he,  and  she  in  all  her  trim, 
He  boarding  her,  she  striking  sail  to  him  : 
Dear  countess  !  you  have  charms  all  hearts  to  hit 
And  '  Sweet  sir  Fopling  !  you  have  so  much  wit !' 
Such  wits  and  beauties  are  not  praised  for  nought, 
For  both  the  beauty  and  the  wit  are  bought. 
'Twould  burst  e'en  Ileraclitus  with  the  spleen, 
To  see  those  antics,    Fopling  and  Courtin : 
The  presence  seems,  with  things  so  richly  odd, 
The  mosque  of  Mahound,  or  some  queer  pagod. 
See  them  survey  their  limbs  by  Durcr's  rules, 
Of  all  beau-kind  the  best  proportion'd  fools  ! 

Shall  find  their  wardrobes  inventory.     Now 
The  ladies  come.     As  pirates  (which  do  know 
That  there  came  weak  ships  fraught  with  cutchanel) 
The  men   board  them :  and  praise   (as  they  think) 

well, 
Their   beauties ;    they   the   men's   wits :    both   are 

bought. 

Why  good  wits  ne'er  wear  scarlet  gowns,  I  thought 
This  cause,  these  men,  mens  wits  for  speeches  buy, 
And  women  buy  all  red  which  scarlets  dye. 
He  call'd  her  beauty  lime-twigs,  her  hair  net : 
She  fears  her  drugs  ill  lay'd,  her  hair  loose  set : 
Wouldn't  Heraclitus  laugh  to  see  Macrine 
From  hat  to  shoe,  himself  at  door  re-fine, 
As  if  the  presence  were  a  mosque;  and  lift 
His  skirts  and  hose,  and  call  his  clothes  to  shrift, 
Making  them  confess  not  only  mortal 
Great  stains  and  holes  in  them,  but  venial 
Feathers  and  dust,  wherewith  they  fornicate  • 
And  then  by  Durer's  rules  survey  the  state 
Of  his  each  limb,  and  with  strings  the  odds  tries 
Of  his  neck  to  his  leg,  and  waste  to  thighs. 


SATIRES  OF  DONNE.  Ti 

Adjust  their  clothes,  and  to  confession  draw, 

Those  venial  sins,  an  atom,  or  a  straw  : 

But,  oh  !  what  terrors  must  distract  the  soul 

Convicted  of  that  mortal  crime,  a  hole  : 

Or  should  one  pound  of  powder  less  bespread 

Those  monkey-tails  that  wag  behind  their  head. 

Thus  finish'd,  and  corrected  to  a  hair, 

They  march,  to  prate  their  hour  before  the  fair. 

So  first  to  preach  a  white-gloved  chapkin  goes, 

With  band  of  lily,  and  with  cheek  of  rose, 

Sweeter  than  Sharon,  in  immaculate  trim, 

Neatness  itself  impertinent  in  him. 

Let  but  the  ladies  smile,  and  they  are  bless'd : 

Prodigious  !  how  the  things  protest !  protest ! 

Peace,  fools,  or  Gonson  will  for  papist  seize  you, 

If  once  he  catch  you  at  your  Jesu  !  Jesu  ! 

Nature  made  every  fop  to  plague  his  brother, 
Just  as  one  beauty  mortifies  another. 
But  here's  the  captain  that  will  plague  them  both, 
Whose  air  cries,  Arm  !  whose  very  look  's  an  oath  i 
The  captain  's  honest,  sirs,  and  that 's  enough, 
Though  his  soul 's  bullet,  and  his  body  buff. 

So  in  immaculate  clothes  and  symmetry 

Perfect  as  circles,  with  such  nicety 

As  a  young  preacher  at  his  first  time  goes 

To  preach,  he  enters,  and  a  lady  which  owes 

Him  not  so  much  as  gocfd-will,  he  arrests, 

And  unto  her  protests,  protests,  protests, 

So  much  as  at  Rome  would  serve  to  have  thrown 

Ten  cardinals  into  the  Inquisition  : 

And  whispers  by  Jesu  so  oft,  that  a 

Pursuevant  would  have  ravish'd  him  away 

For  saying  our  lady's  Psalter.     But  'tis  fit 

That  they  each  other  plague,  they  merit  it. 

But  heTe  comes  Glorious  that  will  plague  'em  botj 

Who  in  the  other  extreme  only  doth 

("all  a  rough  carelessness  good  fashion  : 

Whose  cloak  his  spurs  tear,  or  whom  he  spits  on, 

!Io  cares  not,  he.     His  ill  words  do  no  harm 

Tr  him  ;  he  rushes  in,  as  if  Arm,  arm, 


78  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

He  spits  fore-light ;  his  haughty  chest  before, 
Like  battering  rams,  beats  open  every  door : 
And  with  a  face  as  red,  and  as  awry, 
As  Herod's  hangdogs  in  old  tapestry, 
Scarecrow  to  boys,  the  breeding  woman's  curse, 
Has  yet  a  strange  ambition  to  look  worse  : 
Confounds  the  civil,  keeps  the  rude  in  awe, 
Jests  like  a  licensed  fool,  commands  like  law. 

Frighted,  I  quit  the  room,  but  leave  it  so 
As  men  from  jails  to  execution  go  ; 
For  hung  with  deadly  sins  I  see  the  wall, 
And  lined  with  giants  deadlier  than  them  all : 
Each  man  an  Askapart,  of  strength  to  toss 
For  quoits,  both  Temple-bar  and  Charing-cross. 
Scared  at  the  grizly  forms,  I  sweat,  I  fly, 
And  shake  all  o'er,  like  a  discover'd  spy. 

Courts  are  too  much  for  wits  so  weak  as  mine  ; 
Charge  them  with  heaven's  artillery,  bold  divine  ! 
From  such  alone  the  great  rebukes  endure, 
Whose  satire  's  sacred,  and  whose  rage  secure  ; 

He  meant  to  cry  :  and  though  his  face  be  as  ill 
As  theirs  which  in  old  hangings  whip  Christ,  still 
He  strives  to  look  worse  ;  he  keeps  all  in  awe  ; 
Jests  like  a  licensed  fool,  commands  like  law. 

Tired,  now,  I  leave  this  place,  and  but  pleased 
As  men  from  gaols  to  execution  go, 
Go,  through  the  great  chamber  (why  is  it  hung 
With  these  seven  deadly  sins'?)  being  among 
Those  Askaparts,  men  big  enough  to  throw 
Charing-cross,  for  a  bar,  men  that  do  know 
No  token  of  worth,  but  queens  man,  and  fine 
Living  :  barrels  of  beef,  flaggons  of  wine, 
I  shook  like  a  spied  spy— Preachers  which  are 
Seas  of  wit  and  art,  you  can,  then  dare, 
Drown  the  sins  of  this  place ;  but  as  for  me 
Which  am  but  a  scant  brook,  enough  shnll  1x2 
To  wash  the  stains  away  :  although  I  yet 
(With  Maccabees'  modesty)  the  known  merit 
Of  my  work  lessen,  yet  some  wise  men  shall, 
I  hope,  esteem  my  writs  Canonical. 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.          79 

Tis  minr  t">  visli  a  few  light  stains  ;  but  theirs 
To  delug-o  sin,  and  drown  a  court  in  tears. 
Howa'er,  what's  now  Apocrypha,  my  wit, 
In  time  to  come  may  pass  for  Holy  Writ. 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES. 

IN  TWO  DIALOGUES. 


WRITTEN  IN  MDCCXXXVIII. 

DIALOGUE  I. 

Fr.  NOT  twice  a  twelvemonth  you  appear  in  print, 
And  when  it  comes  the  court  sees  nothing  in't. 
You  grow  correct,  that  once  with  rapture  writ, 
And  are,  besides,  too  moral  for  a  wit. 
Decay  of  parts,  alas  !  we  all  must  feel — 
Why  now,  this  moment,  don't  I  see  you  steal  ? 
'Tis  all  from  Horace  :  Horace  long  before  ye 
Said.  '  Tories  call'd  him  Whig,  and  Whigs  a  Tory  ;' 
And  taught  his  Romans  in  much  better  metre, 
To  laugh  at  fools  who  put  their  trust  in  Peter.' 

But  Horace,  sir,  was  delicate,  was  nice  ; 
Bubo  observes,  he  lash'd  no  sort  of  vice  : 
Horace  would  say.  Sir  Billy  served  the  crown, 
Blunt  could  do  business,  Higgins  knew  the  town; 
In  Sappho  touch  the  failings  of  the  sex, 
In  reverend  bishops  note  some  small  neglects, 
And  own  the  Spaniard  did  a  waggish  thing, 
Who  cropp'd  our  ears,  and  sent  them  to  the  king. 
His  sly,  polite,  insinuating  style 
Could  please  at  court,  and  make  Augustus  smile  : 
An  artful  manager,  that  crept  between 
His  friend  and  shame,  and  was  a  kind  of  screen. 
But  'faith  your  very  friends  will  soon  be  sore  ; 
Patriots  there  are,  who  wish  you'd  jest  no  more— 


80  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  where's  the  glory  ?  'twill  be  only  thought 
The  great  man  never  ofFer'd  you  a  groat. 
(Jo  see  Sir  Robert — 

P.  See  Sir  Robert !—  hum— 
And  never  laugh — for  all  my  life  to  come? 
Seen  him  I  have,  but  in  his  happier  hour 
Of  social  pleasure,  ill-exchanged  for  power; 
Seen  him,  uncumber'd  with  a  venal  tribe, 
Smile  without  art,  and  win  without  a  bribe 
Would  he  oblige  me  ?  let  me  only  find, 
He  does  not  think  me  what  he  thinks  mankind. 
Come,  come,  at  all  I  laugh  he  laughs,  no  doubt , 
The  only  difference  is,  I  dare  laugh  out. 

F.  Why  yes  :  with  Scripture  still  you  may  be  fre« 
A  horse-laugh,  if  you  please,  at  honesty  ; 
A  joke  on  Jekyll,  or  some  odd  old  Whig, 
Who  never  changed  his  principle,  or  wig  ; 
A  patriot  is  a  fool  in  every  age, 
Whom  all  lord  chamberlains  allow  the  stage  : 
These  nothing  hurts :  they  keep  their  fashion  still, 
And  wear  their  strange  old  virtue  as  they  will. 

If  any  ask  you, '  Who  's  the  man  so  near 
His  prince,  that  writes  in  verse,  and  has  his  ear  ?' 
Why  answer,  Lyttleton  ;  and  I'll  engage 
The  worthy  youtli  shall  ne'er  be  in  a  rage  : 
But  were  his  verses  vile,  his  whisper  base, 
You'd  quickly  find  himln  lord  Fanny's  case. 
Sejanus,  Wolsey,  hurt  not  honest  Floury, 
But  well  may  put  some  statesmen  in  a  fury. 

Laugh  then  at  any,  but  at  fools  or  foes ; 
These  you  but  anger,  and  you  mend  not  those. 
Laugh  at  your  friends,  and,  if  your  friends  are  sore, 
So  much  the  better,  you  may  laugh  the  more. 
To  vice  and  folly  to  confine  the  jest, 
Sets  half  the  world,  God  knows,  against  the  rest; 
Did  not  the  sneer  of  more  impartial  men 
At  sense  and  virtue  balance  all  again. 
Judicious  wits  spread  wide  the  ridicule, 
And  charitably  comfort  knave  and  fool. 


JJ 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.        81 

P.  Dear  sir,  forgive  the  prejudice  of  youth  : 
Adieu  distinction,  satire,  warmth,  and  truth ! 
Come,  harmless  characters  that  no  one  hit  ;    • 
Come,  Henley's  oratory,  Osborn's  wit ! 
The  honey  dropping  from  Favonio's  tongue, 
The  flowers  of  Bubo,  and  the  flow  of  Young ! 
The  gracious  dew  of  pulpit  eloquence, 
And  all  the  well-whipp'd  cream  of  courtly  sense, 
That  first  was  H — vy's,  F — 's  next,  and  then, 
The  S — te's,  and  then  H — vy's  once  again. 
O  come,  that  easy  Ciceronian  style, 
So  Latin,  yet  so  English  all  the  while, 
As,  though  the  pride  of  Middleton  and  Bland, 
All  boys  may  read,  and  girls  may  understand  ! 
Then  might  I  sing,  without  the  least  offence, 
And  all  I  sung  should  be  the  nation's  sense ; 
Or  teach  the  melancholy  muse  to  mourn, 
Hang  the  sad  verse  on  Carolina's  urn, 
And  hail  her  passage  to  the  realms  of  rest, 
All  parts  perform'd,  and  all  her  children  bless'd  ' 
So — satire  is  no  more — I  feel  it  die — 
No  gazetteer  more  innocent  than  I — 
And  let,  a  God's  name,  every  fool  and  knave 
Be  graced  through  life,  and  flatter' d  in  his  grave. 

F.  Why  so?  if  satire  knows  its  time  and  place, 
You  still  may  lash  the  greatest — in  disgrace  : 
For  merit  will  by  turns  forsake  them  all ; 
Would  you  know  when  ?  exactly  when  they  fall. 
But  let  all  satire  in  all  changes  spare 

Immortal  S — k,  and  grave  D re. 

Silent  and  soft,  as  saints  removed  to  heaven, 

All  ties  dissolved,  and  every  sin  forgiven, 

These  may  some  gentle  ministerial  wing 

Receive,  and  place  for  ever  near  a  king  ! 

There,  where  no  passion,  pride,  or  shame  transport, 

Lull'd  with  the  sweet  nepenthe  of  a  court ; 

There,  where  no  father's,  brother's,  friend's  disgrace 

Once  break  their  rest,  or  stir  them  from  their  place ; 


82  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

But  past  the  sense  of  human  miseries, 
All  tears  are  wiped  for  ever  from  all  eyes  ; 
No  cheek  is  known  to  blush,  no  heart  to  throb, 
Save  when  they  lose  a  question,  or  a  job. 

P.  Good  Heaven  forbid,  that  I  should  blast  their  glory, 
Who  know  how  like  Whig  ministers  to  Tory  ; 
And  when  three  sovereigns  died  could  scarce  be  vex'il, 
Considering  what  a  gracious  prince  was  next. 
Have  I,  in  silent  wonder,  seen  such  things 
As  pride  in  slaves,  and  avarice  in  kings ; 
And  at  a  peer  or  peeress,  shall  I  fret, 
Who  starves  a  sister,  or  forswears  a  debt  ? 
Virtue,  1  grant  you,  is  an  empty  boast ; 
But  shall  the  dignity  of  vice  be  lost? 
Ye  Gods  !  shall  Gibber's  son,  without  rebuke, 
Swear  like  a  lord,  or  Rich  outwhore  a  duke  ? 
A  favourite's  porter  with  his  master  vie, 
Be  bribed  as  often,  and  as  often  lie  ? 
Shall  Ward  draw  contracts  with  a  statesman's  skill  I 
Or  Japhet  pocket,  like  his  grace,  a  will  ? 
Is  it  for  Bond  or  Peter  (paltry  things) 
To  pay  their  debts,  or  keep  their  faith  like  kings  ? 
If  Blunt  dispatch'd  himself,  he  play'd  the  man  ; 
And  so  may'st  thou,  illustrious  Passeran  ! 
But  shall  a  printer,  weary"of  his  life, 
Learn,  from  their  books,  to  hang  himself  and  wife? 
This,  this,  my  friend,  I  cannot,  must  not  bear  : 
Vice  thus  abused,  demands  a  nation's  care : 
This  calls  the  church  to  deprecate  our  sin, 
And  hurls  the  thunder  of  the  laws  on  gin. 

Let  modest  Foster,  if  he  will,  excel 
Ten  metropolitans  in  preachjng  well ; 
A  simple  quaker,  or  a  qnaker's  wife, 
Outdo  Landaff  in  doctrine, — yea  in  life  : 
Let  humble  Allen,  with  an  awkward  shame, 
Do  good  by  stealth,  and  blush  to  find  it  fame  • 
Virtue  may  choose  the  high  or  low  degree, 
Tis  just  alike  to  virtue  and  to  mo  ; 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES          8! 

Dwell  in  a  monk,  or  light  upon  a  king, 
She's  still  the  same  beloved,  contented  thing. 
Vice  is  undone,  if  she  forgets  her  birth, 
And  stoops  from  angels  to  the  dregs  of  earth 
But  'tis  the  fall  degrades  her  to  a  whore ; 
Let  greatness  own  her,  and  she  's  mean  no  more  . 
Her  birth,  her  beauty,  crowds  and  courts  confess, 
Chaste  matrons  praise  her,  and  grave  bishops  bless , 
In  golden  chains  the  willing  world  she  draws, 
And  hers  the  Gospel  is,  and  hers  the  Jaws  ; 
Mounts  the  tribunal,  lifts  her  scarlet  head, 
And  sees  pale  Virtue  carted  in  her  stead. 
Lo  !  at  the  wheels  of  her  triumphal  car, 
Old  England's  genius,  rough  with  many  a  scar 
Dragg'd  in  the  dust !  his  arms  hang  idly  round, 
His  flag  inverted  trails  along  the  ground  ! 
Our  youth,  all  liveried  o'er  with  foreign  gold, 
Before  her  dance  :  behind  her  crawl  the  old  ! 
See  thronging  millions  to  the  pagod  run, 
And  offer  country,  parent,  wife,  or  son  ! 
Hear  her  black  trumpet  through  the  land  proclaim, 
That  not  to  be  corrupted  is  the  shame. 
In  soldier,  churchman,  patriot,  man  in  power, 
'Tis  avarice  all,  ambition  is  no  more  ! 
See,  all  our  nobles  begging  to  be  slaves ! 
See,  all  our  fools  aspiring  to  be  knaves  ! 
The  wit  of  cheats,  the  courage  of  a  whore, 
Are  what  ten  thousand  envy  and  adore : 
All,  all  look  up,  with  reverential  awe, 
At  crimes  that  'scape  or  triumph  o'er  the  law 
While  truth,  worth,  wisdom,  daily  they  decry- 
Nothing  is  sacred  now  but  villany.' 

Yet  may  this  verse  (if  such  a  verse  remain) 
Show  there  was  one  who  held  it  in  disdain 


84  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

DIALOGUE  II. 

Fr.  '  'Tis  all  a  libel' — Paxton,  sir,  will  say. 

P   Not  yet  my  friend  !  to-morrow,  'faith  it  may 
And  for  that  very  cause  I  print  to-day. 
How  should  I  fret  to  mangle  every  line, 
In  reverence  to  the  sins  of  thirty-nine  ! 
Vice  with  such  giant-strides  comes  on  amain, 
Invention  strives  to  be  before  in  vain ; 
Feign  what  I  will,  and  paint  it  e'er  so  strong, 
Some  rising  genius  sins  up  to  my  song. 

F.  Yet  none  but  you  by  name  the  guilty  lash  ; 
E'en  Guthry  saves  half  Newgate  by  a  dash. 
Spare  then  the  person,  and  expose  the  vice. 

P.  How,  sir !  not  damn  the  sharper,  but  the  dice, 
Come  on  then,  satire !  general  unconfined, 
Spread  thy  broad  wing,  and  souse  on  all  the  kind. 
Ye  statesmen,  priests,  of  one  religion  all ! 
Ye  tradesmen,  vile,  in  army,  court,  or  hall ! 
Ye  reverend  atheists. — F.  Scandal !  name  them,  who 

P.  Why  that's  the  thing  you  bid  me  not  to  do. 
Who  starved  a  sister,  who  forswore  a  debt, 
I  never  named  :  the  town  's  inquiring  yet. 
The  poisoning  dame — F.  You  mean — P.  I  don't. — 
F.'  You  do. 

P.  See,  now  I  keep  the  secret,  and  not  you  ! 
The  bribing  statesman — F.  Hold  :  too  high  you  go. 

P.  The  bribed  elector — F.  There  you  stoop  too  lovi 

P.  I  fain  would  please  you,  if  I  knew  with  what 
Tell  me,  which  knave  is  lawful  game,  which  not  ? 
Must  great  offenders,  once  escaped  the  crown, 
Like  royal  harts,  be  never  more  run  down  ? 
Admit  your  law  to  spare  the  knight  requires, 
As  beasts  of  nature,  may  we  hunt  the  'squires? 
Suppose  I  censure — you  know  what  I  mean — 
To  save  a  bishop,  may  I  name  a  dean  ? 

F.  A  dean,  sir  ?  no  ;  his  fortune  is  not  made  ; 
You  hurt  a  man  that's  rising  in  the  trade. 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.         85 

P.  If  not  the  tradesman  who  sets  up  to-day, 
Much  less  the  'prentice  who  to-morrow  may. 
Down,  down,  proud  satire  !  though  a  realm  be  spoil'cl, 
Arraign  no  mightier  thief  than  wretched  Wild  : 
Or,  if  a  court  or  country's  made  a  job, 
Go  drench  a  pickpocket,  and  join  the  mob. 

But,  sir,  I  beg  you,  (for  the  love  of  vice  !) 
The  matter's  weighty,  pray  consider  twice . 
Have  you  less  pity  for  tlje  needy  cheat, 
The  poor  and  friendless  villain,  than  the  great? 
Alas  !  the  small  discredit  of  a  bribe 
Scarce  hurts  the  lawyer,  but  undoes  the  scribe. 
Then  better  sure  it  charity  becomes 
To  tax  directors,  who  (thank  God)  have  plums , 
Still  better,  ministers;  or,  if  the  thing 
May  pinch  e'en  there — why  lay  it  on  a  king. 

F.  Stop  !  stop  ! 

P.  Must  satire,  then,  nor  rise  nor  fall? 
Speak  out,  and  bid  me  blame  no  rogues  at  all. 

F.  Yes,  strike  that  Wild,  I'll  justify  the  blow. 

P.  Strike  ?  why  the  man  was  hang'd  ten  years  ago  • 
Who  now  that  obsolete  example  fears  ? 
E'en  Peter  trembles  only  for  his  ears. 

F.  What,  always  Peter?     Peter  thinks  you  mad  ; 
You  make  men  desperate,  if  they  once  are  bad, 
Else  might  he  take  to  virtue  some  years  hence — 

P.  As  S — k,  if  he  lives,  will  love  the  prince. 

F.  Strange  spleen  to  S— k ! 

P.  Do  I  wrong  the  man  1 
God  knows,  I  praise  a  courtier  where  I  can. 
When  I  confess  there  is  who  feels  for  fame, 
And  melts  to  goodness,  need  I  Scarborough  name  ? 
Pleased  let  me  own,  in  Esher's  peaceful  grove 
(Where  Kent  and  nature  vie  for  Pelham's  love,) 
The  scene,  the  master,  opening  to  my  view, 
I  sit  and  dream  I  see  my  Craggs  anew  ! 

Ev'n  in  a  bishop  I  can  spy  desert ; 
Seeker  is  decent,  Rundel  has  a  heart ; 


S6  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Manners  with  candour  are  to  Benson  given ; 

To  Berkley  every  virtue  under  heaven. 

But  does  the  court  a  worthy  man  remove  ? 

That  instant,  I  declare,  he  has  my  love : 

I  shun  his  zenith,  court  his  mild  decline ; 

Thus  Somers  once,  and  Halifax,  were  mine. 

Oft,  in  the  clear  still  mirror  of  retreat, 

I  studied  Shrewsbury,  the  wise  and  great  ; 

Carleton's  calm  sense,  and  Stanhope's  noble  flame 

Compared,  and  knew  their  generous  end  the  same  : 

How  pleasing  Atterbury's  softer  hour ! 

How  shined  the  soul,  unconquer'd  in  the  Tower ! 

How  can  I  Pulteney,  Chesterfield,  forget, 

While  Roman  spirit  charms,  and  Attic  wit  ? 

Argyle,  the  state's  whole  thunder  born  to  wield, 

And  shake  alike  the  senate  and  the  field  ? 

Or  Wyndham,  just  to  freedom  and  the  throne, 

The  master  of  our  passions,  and  his  own  ? 

Names,  which  I  long  have  loved,  nor  loved  in  vain, 

Rank'd  with  their  friends,  and  number'd  with  thei. 

train. 
And  if  yet  higher  the  proud  list  should  end, 

Still  let  me  say,  no  follower,  but  a  friend. 
Yet  think  not,  friendship  only  prompts  my  lays, 

I  follow  virtue  ;  where  she  shines,  I  praise  ; 

Points  she  to  priest  or  elder,  Whig  or  Tory, 

Or  round  a  quaker's  beaver  cast  a  glory. 

1  never  (to  my  sorrow  I  declare) 

Dined  with  the  Man  of  Ross,  or  my  Lord  Mayor. 

Some  in  their  choice  of  friends  (nay  look  not  grave) 

Have  still  a  secret  bias  to  a  knave : 

To  find  an  honest  man  I  beat  about, 
•    And  love  him,  court  him,  praise  him,  in  or  out. 
F   Then  why  so  few  commended  ? 

P.  Not  so  fierce ; 

Find  you  the  virtue,  and  I'll  find  the  verge. 

But  random  praise — the  task  can  ne'er  be  done : 

Each  mother  asks  it  for  her  booby  son  ; 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.         97 

Each  widow  asks  it  for  the  best  of  men, 
For  him  she  weeps,  for  hirn  she  weds  again. 
Praise  cannot  stoop,  like  satire,  to  the  ground  : 
The  number  may  be  hang'd,  but  not  be  crown  d. 
Enough  for  half  the  greatest  of  these  days, 
To  escape  my  censure,  not  expect  my  praise. 
Are  they  not  rich  ?  what  more  can  they  pretend  ? 
Dare  they  to  hope  a  poet  for  their  friend  ? 
What  Richlieu  wanted,  Louis  scarce  could  gain, 
And  what  young  Ammon  wish'd,  but  wish'd  in  vain 
No  power  the  muse's  friendship  can  command ; 
No  power,  when  virtue  claims  it,  can  withstand  : 
To  Cato,  Virgil  paid  one  honest  line  : 

0  let  my  country's  friends  illumine  mine  ! — 

What  are  you  thinking?  F.  'Faith  the  thought's  no  sin, 

1  think  your  friends  are  out,  and  would  be  in. 

P.  If  merely  to  come  in,  sir,  they  go  out. 
The  way  they  take  is  strangely  round  about. 

F.  They  too  may  be  corrupted,  you'll  allow. 

P.  I  only  call  those  knaves  who  are  so  now 
Is  that  too  little  ?    Come  then,  I'll  comply — 
Spirit  of  Arnall !  aid  me  while  I  lie  : 
Cobham's  a  coward,  Polwarth  is  a  slave, 
And  Lyttleton  a  dark,  designing  knave ; 

St  John  has  ever  been  a  wealthy  fooi 

But  let  me  add,  Sir  Robert's  mighty  dull, 
Has  never  made  a  friend  in  private  life, 
And  was,  besides,  a  tyrant  to  his  wife. 

But  pray  when  others  praise  him,  do  I  blame  ? 
Call  Verres,  Wolsey,  any  odious  name  ! 
Why  rail  they  then,  if  but  a  wreath  of  mine, 
O  all-accomplish'd  St.  John  !  deck  thy  shrine  ? 

What!  shall  each  spur-gall'd  hackney  of  the  day 
When  Paxton  gives  him  double  pots  and  pay, 
Or  each  new-pension'd  sycophant,  pretend 
To  break  my  windows,  if  I  treat  a  friend, 
Then  wisely  plead,  to  me  they  meant  no  hurt, 
But  'twas  my  guest  at  whom  they  threw  the  dirt? 


S8 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Sure,  if  I  spare  the  minister,  no  rules 

Of  honour  bind  me,  not  to  maul  his  tools  ; 

Sure,  if  they  cannot  cut,  it  may  be  said 

His  saws  are  toothless,  and  his  hatchets  lead. 

It  anger'd  Turenne,  once  upon  a  day, 
To  see  a  footman  kick'd  that  took  his  pay ; 
But  when  he  heard  the  affront  the  fellow  gave, 
Knew  one  a  man  of  honour,  one  a  knave  ; 
The  prudent  general  turn'd  it  to  a  jest, 
And  begg'd  he'd  take  the  pains  to  kick  the  rest . 
Which  not  at  present  having  time  to  do — 

F.   Hold,  sir!  for  God's  sake,  where 's  the  affrort 
Against  your  worship  when  had  S — k  writ  ?  [to  you  1 
Or  P — ge  pour'd  forth  the  torrent  of  his  wit  ? 
Or  grant  the  bard  whose  distich  all  commend 
[In  power  a  servant,  out  of  power  a  friend] 
To  W — le  guilty  of  some  venial  sin ; 
What's  that  to  you  who  ne'er  was  out  nor  in? 

The  priest  whose  flattery  bedropt  the  crown, 
How  hurt  he  you  ?  he  only  stain'd  the  gown. 
And  how  did,  pray,  the  florid  youth  offend, 
Whose  speech  you  took,  and  gave  it  to  a  friend  ? 

P.  'Faith,  it  imports  not  much  from  whom  it  cairn* , 
Whoever  borrow'd  could  not  be  to  blame, 
Since  the  whole  house  did  afterwards  the  same. 
Let  courtly  wits  to  wits  afford  supply, 
As  hog  to  hog  in  huts  of  Westphaly  : 
If  one,  through  nature's  bounty  or  his  lord's, 
Has  what  the  frugal,  dirty  soil  affords, 
From  him  the  next  receives  it,  thick  or  thin, 
As  pure  a  mess  almost  as  it  came  in  ; 
The  blessed  benefit,  not  there  confined, 
Drops  to  the  third,  who  nuzzles  close  behind. 
From  tail  to  mouth,  they  feed  and  they  carouse, 
The  last  full  fairly  gives  it  to  the  house 

F.  This  filthy  simile,  this  beastly  line 

Quite  turns  my  stomach 

P.  So  does  ftatteiy  m<M : 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.         89 

And  all  your  courtly  civet-cats  can  vent, 

Perfume  to  you,  to  me  is  excrement. 

But  hear  me  further — Japhet,  'tis  agreed, 

Writ  not,  and  Chartres  scarce  could  write  or  read, 

In  all  the  courts  of  Pindus  guiltless  quite: 

But  pens  can  forge,  my  friend,  that  cannot  write ; 

And  must  no  egg  in  Japhet's  face  be  thrown, 

Because  the  deed  he  forged  was  not  my  own? 

Must  never  patriot  then  declaim  at  gin, 

Unless,  good  man  !  he  has  been  fairly  in  ? 

No  zealous  pastor  blame  a  failing  spouse, 

Without  a  staring  reason  on  his  brows  ? 

And  each  blasphemer  quite  escape  the  rod, 

Because  the  insult 's  not  on  man,  but  God  ' 

Ask  you  what  provocation  I  have  had  ? 
The  strong  antipathy  of  good  to  bad. 
When  truth  and  virtue  an  affront  endures, 
The  affront  is  mine,  my  friend,  and  should  be  your* 
Mine,  as  a  foe  profess'd  to  false  pretence, 
Who  think  a  coxcomb's  honour  like  his  sense  ; 
Mine,  as  a  friend  to  every  worthy  mind  ; 
And  mine  as  man,  who  feel  for  all  mankind. 

F.  You're  strangely  proud. 

P.  So  proud,  I  am  no  slave  5 
So  impudent,  I  own  myself  no  knave  ; 
So  odd,  my  country's  ruin  makes  me  grave. 
Yes,  I  am  proud  :  I  must  be  proud  to  see 
Men  not  afraid  of  God,  afraid  of  me  : 
Safe  from  the  bar,  the  pulpit,  and  the  throne, 
Yet  t-uch'd  and  shamed  by  ridicule  alone. 

O  (w.cred  weapon  !  left  for  Truth's  defence, 
S  >\e  dread  of  folly,  vice,  and  insolence  ! 
T  >  all  but  heaven-directed  hands  denied, 
The  muse  may  give  thee,  but  the  gods  must  guide 
Reverent  I  touch  thee  !  but  with  honest  zeal ; 
To  rouse  the  watchmen  of  the  public  weal, 
To  virtue's  work  provoke  the  tardy  hall, 
Ai'd  goad  the  prelate  slumbering  in  his  stall. 

VOL.  II.  7 


90  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Ye  tinsel  insects!  whom  a  court  maintains, 
That  counts  your  beauties  only  by  your  stains, 
Spin  all  your  cobwebs  o'er  the  eye  of  day  ! 
The  muse's  wing  shall  brush  you  all  away : 
All  his  grace  preaches,  all  his  lordship  sings, 
All  that  makes  saints  of  queens,  and  gods  of  kings; 
All,  all  but  truth,  drops  dead-born  from  the  press, 
Like  the  last  gazette,  or  the  last  address. 

When  black  ambition  stains  a  public  cause, 
A  monarch's  sword  when  mad  vain-glory  draws, 
Not  Waller's  wreath  can  hide  a  nation's  scar, 
Not  Boileau  turn  the  feather  to  a  star. 

Not  so,  when,  diadem'd  with  rays  divine, 
Touch'd   with   the  flame  that  breaks  from  virtue't 

shrine, 

Her  priestess  muse  forbids  the  good  to  die, 
And  opes  the  temple  of  eternity. 
There,  other  trophies  deck  the  truly  brave, 
Than  such  as  Anstis  casts  into  the  grave ; 
Far  other  stars  than  *  and  **  wear, 
And  may  descend  to  Mordington  from  Stair  ; 
(Such  as  on  Hough's  unsullied  mitre  shine, 
Or  beam,  good  Digby,  from  a  heart  like  thine) 
Let  envy    howl,    while   heaven's    whole    chorus 

sings, 

And  bark  at  honour  not  conferr'd  by  kings ; 
Let  flattery  sickening  see  the  incense  rise, 
Sweet  to  the  world,  and  grateful  to  the  skies: 
Truth  guards  the  poet,  sanctifies  the  line, 
And  makes  immortal  verse  as  mean  as  mine. 

Yes,  the  last  pen  for  freedom  let  me  draw, 
When  truth  stands  trembling  on  the  edge  of  law ; 
Here,  last  of  Britons  !  let  your  names  be  read  : 
Are  none,  none  living  ?  let  me  praise  the  dead, 
And  for  that  cause  which  made  your  fathers  shine, 
Fall  by  the  votes  of  their  degenerate  line. 

F.  Alas,  alas  !  pray  end  what  you  began, 
And  write  next  winter  more  Essays  on  Man. . 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE. 

EPISTLE  VII. 
Imitated  in  the  Manner  of  Dr.  Svtift. 


'Tis  true,  my  lord,  I  gave  my  word, 
I  would  be  with  you  June  the  third ; 
Changed  it  to  August,  and  (in  short) 
Have  kept  it — as  you  do  at  court. 
You  humour  me  when  I  am  sick, 
Why  not  when  I  am  splenetic  ? 
In  town,  what  objects  could  I  meet  ? 
The  shops  shut  up  in  every  street, 
And  funerals  blackening  all  the  doors, 
And  yet  more  melancholy  whores  : 
And  what  a  dust  in  every  place ! 
And  a  thin  court  that  wants  your  face 
And  fevers  raging  up  and  down, 
And  W*  and  H**  both  in  town  ! 

'  The  dog-days  are  no  more  the  case 
'Tis  true,  but  winter  comes  apace  : 
Then  southward  let  your  bard  retire, 
Hold  out  some  months  'twixt  sun  and  fire, 
And  you  shall  see,  the  first  warm  weather, 
Me  and  the  butterflies  together. 

My  lord,  your  favours  well  I  know  : 
'Tis  with  distinction  you  bestow  ; 
And  not  to  every  one  that  comes, 
Just  as  a  Scotsman  does  his  plums. 
'  Pray  take  them,  sir — Enough  's  a  feast : 
Eat  some,  and  pocket  up  the  rest' — 
What,  rob  your  boys  ?  those  pretty  rogues ! 
'  No,  sir,  you'll  leave  them  to  the  hogs.' 
Thus  fools  with  compliments  besiege  ye, 
Contriving  never  to  oblige  ye. 
Scatter  your  favours  on  a  fop, 
Ingratitude 's  the  certain  crop , 


92  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  'tis  but  just,  I'll  tell  you  wherefore, 

You  give  the  things  you  never  care  for. 

A  wise  man  always  is  or  should 

Be  mighty  ready  to  do  good  ; 

But  makes  a  difference  in  his  thought 

Betwixt  a  guinea  and  a  groat. 

Now  this  I'll  say,  you'll  find  in  me 
A  safe  companion  and  a  free ; 
But  if  you'd  have  me  always  near — 
A  word,  pray,  in  your  honour's  ear : 
I  hope  it  is  your  resolution 
To  give  me  back  my  constitution  ! 
The  sprightly  wit,  the  lively  eye, 
The  engaging  smile,  the  gaiety, 
That  laugh'd  down  many  a  summer  sun, 
And  kept  you  up  so  oft  till  one  ! 
And  all  that  voluntary  vein, 
As  when  Belinda  raised  my  strain. 

A  weasel  once  made  shift  to  slink 
In  at  a  corn  loft  through  a  chink  ; 
But  having  amply  stuffd  his  skin, 
Could  not  get  out  as  he  got  in ; 
Which  one  belonging  to  the  house 
('Twas  not  a  man,  it  was  a  mouse) 
Observing,  cried, '  You  'scape  not  so  ; 
Lean  as  you  came,  sir,  you  must  go.' 

Sir,  you  may  spare  your  application, 
I'm  no  such  beast,  nor  his  relation  ; 
Not  one  that  temperance  advance, 
Cramm'd  to  the  throat  with  ortolans  ; 
Extremely  ready  to  resign 
All  that  may  make  me  none  of  mine; 
South-sea  subscriptions  take  who  please, 
Leave  me  but  liberty  and  ease. 
'Twas  what  I  said  to  Craggs  and  Child, 
Who  praised  my  modesty,  and  smiled. 
1  Give  me,'  I  cried  (enough  for  me,) 
'My  bread,  and  independency !' 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE  92 

So  bought  an  annual  rent  or  two, 

And  lived just  as  you  see  I  do ; 

Near  fifty,  and  without  a  wife, 
I  trust  that  sinking  fund,  my  life. 
Can  I  retrench  ?  Yes,  mighty  well, 
Shrink  back  to  my  paternal  cell, 
A  little  house,  with  trees  a-row, 
And,  like  its  master,  very  low. 
There  died  my  father,  no  man's  debtor, 
And  there  I'll  die,  nor  worse  nor  better. 

To  set  this  matter  full  before  ye, 
Our  old  friend  Swift  will  tell  his  story. 

4  Harley,  the  nation's  great  support — ' 
But  you  may  read  it,  I  stop  short. 


THE  LATTER  PART  OF  SATIRE  VI.  B.  II.* 

O  CHARMING  noons  !  and  nights  divine ! 
Or  when  I  sup,  or  when  I  dine, 
My  friends  above,  my  folks  below, 
Chatting  and  laughing  all  a-row, 
The  beans  and  bacon  set  before  'em, 
The  grace-cup  served  with  all  decorum : 
Each  willing  to  be  pleased,  and  please, 
And  e'en  the  very  dogs  at  ease ! 
Here  no  man  prates  of  idle  things, 
How  this  or  that  Italian  sings, 
A  neighbour's  madness,  or  his  spouse's, 
Or  what 's  in  either  of  the  houses : 
But  something  much  more  our  concern, 
And  quite  a  scandal  not  to  learn : 
Which  is  the  happier,  or  the  wiser, 
A  man  of  merit,  or  a  miser  ? 
Whether  we  ought  to  choose  our  friends, 
For  their  own  worth,  or  our  own  ends  ? 

*See  the  first  part  in  Swift's  Poems 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

What  good,  or  better,  we  may  call, 
And  what  the  very  best  of  all  ? 

Our  friend  Dan  Prior,  told  (you  know) 
A  tale  extremely  'u-propos:' 
Name  a  town  life,  and  in  a  trice 
He  had  a  story  of  two  mice. 
Once  on  a  time  (so  runs  the  fable) 
A  country  mouse,  right  hospitable, 
Received  a  town  mouse  at  his  board, 
Just  as  a  farmer  might  a  lord. 
A  frugal  mouse  upon  the  whole, 
Yet  loved  his  friend,  and  had  a  soul, 
Knew  what  was  handsome,  and  would  do't, 
On  just  occasion, '  coute  qui  coute.' 
He  brought  him  bacon,  (nothing  lean  ;) 
Pudding  that  might  have  pleased  a  dean ; 
Cheese,  such  as  men  in  Suffolk  make, 
But  wish'd  it  Stilton  for  his  sake  ; 
Yet,  to  his  guest  though  no  way  sparing, 
He  ate  himself  the  rind  and  paring. 
Our  courtier  scarce  could  touch  a  bit, 
But  show'd  his  breeding  and  his  wit; 
He  did  his  best  to  seem  to  eat, 
And  cried,  '  I  vow  you're  mighty  neat ; 
But,  lord,  my  friend,  this  savage  scene ! 
For  God's  sake  come,  and  live  with  men  . 
Consider,  mice,  like  men,  must  die, 
Both  small  and  great,  both  you  and  I : 
Then  spend  your  life  in  joy  and  sport ; 
(This  doctrine,  friend,  I  learn'd  at  court.') 

The  veriest  hermit  in  the  nation 
May  yield,  God  knows,  to  strong  temptation. 
Away  they  come,  through  thick  and  thin 
To  a  tall  house  near  Lincoln's-inn  : 
('Twas  on  the  night  of  a  debate, 
When  all  their  lordships  had  sat  late.) 

Behold  the  place,  where  if  a  poet 
Shined  in  description,  ho  might  show  it 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  9ft 

Tell  how  the  moon-beam  trembling  falls, 

And  tips  with  silvor  all  the  walls  ; 

Palladinn  walls,  Venetian  doors, 

Grotesco  roof's,  and  stucco  floors : 

But  let  it  (in  a  word)  be  said, 

The  moon  was  up,  and  men  a-bed, 

The  napkins  white,  the  carpet  red  ; 

The  guests  withdrawn  had  left  the  treat, 

And  down  the  mice  sat,  '  tete  a  tete.' 
Our  courtier  walks  from  dish  to  dish, 

Tastes  for  his  friend  of  fowl  and  fish; 

Tells  all  their  names,  lays  down  the  law  : 
Que  <;a  est  bon  !   Ah,  goiitez  ra  ! 

That  jelly's  rich,  this  malmsey  healing, 

Pray  dip  your  whiskers  and  your  tail  in 

Was  ever  such  a  happy  swain  ? 

He  stuffs,  and  swills,  and  stuffs  again. 

I'm  quite  ashamed — 'tis  mighty  rude 
To  eat  so  much — but  all's  so  good. 

I  have  a  thousand  thanks  to  give — 

My  lord  alone  knows  how  to  live.' 

No  sooner  said,  but  from  the  hall 

Rush  chaplain,  butler,  dogs  and  all : 

'  A  rat,  a  rat !  clap  to  the  door — ' 

The  cat  comes  bouncing  on  the  floor 

O  for  the  heart  of  Homer's  mice, 

Or  gods  to  save  them  in  a  trice ! 

(It  was  by  Providence  they  think, 

For  your  damn'd  stucco  has  no  chink./ 

'  An't  please  your  honour,'  quoth  the  peasant, 

'  This  same  desert  is  not  so  pleasant : 

Give  me  again  my  hollow  tree, 

A  crust  of  bread,  and  liberty  !' 


96  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

BOOK  IV.— ODE  I. 

TO  VENUS. 
AGAIN?  new  tumults  in  my  breast? 

Ah  spare  me,  Venus  !  let  me,  let  me  rest ! 
I  am  not  now,  alas  !  the  man 

As  in  the  gentle  reign  of  my  queen  Anne. 
Ah  !  sound  no  more  thy  soft  alarms, 

Nor  circle  sober  fifty  with  thy  charms  ! 
Mother  too  fierce  of  dear  desires  ! 

Turn,  turn  to  willing  hearts  your  wanton  fires : 
To  number  five  direct  your  doves, 

There  spread  round  Murray  all  your  blooming  love» 
Noble  and  young,  who  strikes  the  heart 

With  every  sprightly,  every  decent  part ; 
Equal  the  injured  to  defend, 

To  charm  the  mistress,  or  to  fix  the  friend. 
He,  with  a  hundred  arts  refined, 

Shall  stretch  thy  conquests  over  half  the  kind : 
To  him  each  rival  shall  submit, 

Make  but  his  riches  equal  to  his  wit. 
Then  shall  thy  form  the  marble  grace, 

(Thy  Grecian  form)  and  Chloe  lend  the  face; 
His  house,  embosom'd  in  the  grove, 

Sacred  to  social  life  and  social  love, 
Shall  glitter  o'er  the  pendent  green, 

Where  Thames  reflects  the  visionary  scene  : 
Thither  the  silver-sounding  lyres 

Shall  call  the  smiling  loves  and  young  desires 
There,  every  grace  and  muse  shall  throng, 

Exalt  the  dance,  or  animate  the  song ; 
There  youths  and  nymphs,  in  concert  gay, 

Shall  hail  the  rising,  close  the  parting  day 
With  me,  alas  !  those  joys  are  o'er; 

For  me  the  vernal  garlands  bloom  no  more 
Adieu  !  fond  hope  of  mutual  fire, 

The  still-believing,  still  renew'd  desire : 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  97 

Adieu  !  the  heart-expanding  bowl, 

And  all  the  kind  deceivers  of  the  soul ! 
But  why  ?  ah  tell  me,  ah  too  dear ! 

Steals  down  my  cheek  the  involuntary  tear  ? 
Why  words  so  flowing,  thoughts  so  free, 

Stop,  or  turn  nonsense,  at  one  glance  of  thee  ? 
Thee,  dress'd  in  Fancy's  airy  beam, 

Absent  I  follow  through  the  extended  dream  ; 
Now,  now  I  cease,  I  clasp  thy  charms, 

And  now  you  burst  (ah  cruel)  from  my  arms ! 
And  swiftly  shoot  along  the  Mall, 

Or  softly  glide  by  the  canal ; 
Now  shown  by  Cynthia's  silver  ray, 

And  now  on  rolling  waters  snatch'd  away 


ART  OF  ODE  IX.  OF  BOOK  IV 

A    FRAGMENT. 

LEST  you  should  think  that  verse  shall  die, 
Which  sounds  the  silver  Thames  along, 

Taught  on  the  wings  of  truth  to  fly 
Above  the  reach  of  vulgar  song  ; 

Though  daring  Milton  sits  sublime, 

In  Spenser  native  muses  play  ; 
Nor  yet  shall  Waller  yield  to  time, 

Nor  pensive  Cowley's  moral  lay — 
Sages  and  chiefs,  loiig  since  had  birth 

Ere  CjEsar  was,  or  Newton  named ; 
These  raised  new  empires  o'er  the  earth, 

And  those  new  heavens  and  systems  framed. 
Vain  was  the  chiefs,  the  sage's  pride  ! 
They  had  no  poet,  and  they  died  ; 
In  vain  they  schemed,  in  vain  they  bled  ! 
They  had  no  p'»<*  and  are  dead 


(  98  ) 
MISCELLANIES. 

On  Receiving  from  the  Right  Hon.  Lady  France* 
Shirley,  a  Standish  and  tvio  Pens. 


YES,  I  beheld  the  Athenian  queen 

Descend  in  all  her  sober  charms  ; 
And, '  Take,'  she  said,  and  smiled  serene, 

'  Take  at  this  hand  celestial  arms  : 
Secure  the  radiant  weapons  wield  ; 

This  golden  lance  shall  guard  desert, 
And  if  a  vice  dares  keep  the  field, 

This  steel  shall  stab  it  to  the  heart.' 

Awed,  on  my  bended  knees  I  fell, 

Received  the  weapons  of  the  sky, 
And  dipp'd  them  in  the  sable  well, 

The  fount  of  fame  or  infamy. 
What  well  ?  what  weapon  ?'  Flavia  cries 

'  A  standish,  steel  and  golden  pen ; 
It  came  from  Bertrand's,  not  the  skies  ; 

I  gave  it  you  to  write  again. 
'  But,  friend,  take  heed  whom  you  attack  , 

You'll  bring  a  house,  I  mean  of  peers, 
Red,  blue,  and  green,  nay,  white  and  black, 

L*****  and  all  about  your  ears. 
'  You'd  write  as  smooth  again  on  glass, 

And  run  on  ivory  so  glib, 
As  not  to  stick  at  fool  or  ass, 

Nor  stop  at  flattery  or  fib. 
'  Athenian  queen  !  and  sober  charms! 

I  tell  you,  fool,  there  's  nothing  in't : 
'Tis  Venus,  Venus  gives  these  arms  ; 

In  Dryden's  Virgil  see  the  print. 

Come,  if  you  '11  be  a  quiet  soul, 

That  dares  tell  neither  truth  nor  lies, 
I'll  list  you  in  the  harmless  roll 
Of  those  that  sing  of  these  poor  eyes. 


MISCELLANIES.  99 

EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT, -EARL  OP  OXFORD, 

AND  EARL  MORTIMER. 

Sent  to  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  vnlh  Dr.  ParneWs  Poems, 
published  by  our  Author,  after  the  said  Earfs  t'm- 
prisonment  in  the  Tower  and  Retreat  into  the  Coun 
try,  m  the  Year  1721. 


SUCH  were  the  notes  thy  once-loved  poet  sung, 
fill  death  untimely  stopp'd  his  tuneful  tongue. 
Oh,  just  beheld,  and  lost :  admired,  and  mourn'd ! 
With  softest  manners,  gentlest  arts  adorn'd  ! 
Bless'd  in  each  science,  bless'd  in  every  strain ! 
Dear  to  the  muse  !  to  Harley  dear — in  vain ! 
For  him,  thou  oft  hast  bid  the  world  attend, 
Fond  to  forget  the  statesman  in  the  friend  ; 
For  Swift  and  him,  despised  the  farce  of  state, 
The  sober  follies  of  the  wise  and  great ; 
Dexterous,  the  craving,  fawning  crowd  to  quit, 
And  pleased  to  escape  from  flattery  to  wit. 

Absent  or  dead,  still  let  a  friend  be  dear, 
(A  sigh  the  absent  claims,  the  dead  a  tear,) 
Recall  those  nights  that  closed  thy  toilsome  days, 
Still  hear  thy  Parnell  in  his  living  lays, 
Who,  careless  now  of  interest,  fame,  or  fate, 
Perhaps  forgets  that  Oxford  e'er  was  great ; 
Or,  deeming  meanest  what  we  greatest  call, 
Beholds  thee  glorious  only  in  thy  fall. 

And  sure,  if  aught  below  the  seats  divine 
Can  touch  immortals,  'tis  a  soul  like  thine : 
A  soul  supreme,  in  each  hard  instance  tried, 
Above  all  pain,  and  passion,  and  all  pride, 
The  rage  of  power,  the  blast  of  public  breath, 
The  lust  of  lucre  and  the  dread  of  death. 

In  vain  to  deserts  thy  retreat  is  made ; 
The  muse  attends  thee  to  thy  silent  shade  : 
'Tis  hers  the  brave  man's  latest  steps  to  trace, 
Re-judge  his  acts,  and  dignify  disgrace. 


100 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


When  interest  calls  off  all  her  sneaking  train, 
And  all  the  obliged  desert,  and  all  the  vain ; 
She  waits,  or  to  the  scaffold,  or  the  cell, 
When  the  last  lingering  friend  has  bid  farewell. 
E'en  now  she  shades  thy  evening  walk  with  baya 
(No  hireling  she,  no  prostitute  to  praise;) 
E'en  now,  observant  of  the  parting  ray, 
Eyes  the  calm  sunset  of  thy  various  day, 
Through  fortune's  cloud  one  truly  great  can  see, 
Nor  fears  to  tell  that  Mortimer  is  he. 


EPISTLE  TO  JAMES  CRAGGS,  ESQ 

Secretary  of  State  in  the  Year  1720. 
A  SOUL  as  full  of  worth,  as  void  of  pride, 
Which  nothing  seeks  to  show,  or  needs  to  hide  : 
Which  nor  to  guilt  nor  fear  its  caution  owes, 
And  boasts  a  warmth  that  from  no  passion  flows 
A  face  untaught  to  feign  ;  a  judging  eye, 
That  darts  severe  upon  a  rising  lie, 
And  strikes  a  blush  through  frontless  flattery : 
All  this  thou  wert ;  and  being  this  before, 
Know,  kings  and  fortune  cannot  make  thee  more 
Then  scorn  to  gain  a  friend  by  servile  ways, 
Nor  wish  to  lose  a  foe  these  virtues  raise ; 
Hut  candid,  free,  sincere  as  you  began, 
Proceed — a  minister,  but  still  a  man. 
Be  not  (exalted  to  whate'er  degree) 
Ashamed  of  any  friend,  not  e'en  of  me  : 
The  patriot's  plain,  but  untrod,  path  pursue ; 
If  not,  'tis  I  must  be  ashamed  of  you. 


EPISTLE  TO  MR.  JERVAS ; 

With  Mr.  Drydcn's  Translation  of  Fres?ioy\   A** 
of  Painting. 

This  Epistle,  and  the  two  following,  were  written  some 
years  before  the  rest,  and  originally  printed  in  1717. 


MISCELLANIES.  '01 

THIS  verse  be  thine,  my  friend,  nor  thou  refuse 
This,  from  no  venal  or  ungrateful  muse. 
Whether  thy  hand  strike  out  some  free  design, 
Where  life  awakes  and  dawns  at  every  line  ; 
Or  blend  in  beauteous  tints  the  colour'd  mass, 
And  from  the  canvass  call  the  mimic  face  : 
Read  these  instructive  leaves,  in  which  conspire 
Fresnoy's  close  art,  and  Dryden's  native  fire  : 
And  reading  wish,  like  theirs  our  fate  and  fame, 
So  mix'd  our  studies,  and  so  join'd  our  name : 
Like  them  to  shine  through  long  succeeding  age, 
So  just  thy  skill,  so  regular  my  rage. 

Smit  with  the  love  of  sister  arts  we  came, 
And  met  congenial,  mingling  flame  with  flame  ; 
Like  friendly  colours  found  them  both  unite, 
And  each    from   each  contract   new   strength    and 

light. 

How  oft  in  pleasing  tasks  we  wear  the  day, 
While  summer  suns  roll  unperceived  away! 
How  oft  our  slowly-growing  works  impart, 
While  images  reflect  from  art  to  art ! 
How  oft  review  ;  each  finding,  like  a  friend, 
something  to  blame  and  something  to  commend  ! 

What    flattering    scenes    our    wandering   fancj 

wrought, 

Rome's  pompous  glories  rising  to  our  thought ! 
Together  o'er  the  Alps  methinks  we  fly, 
Fired  with  ideas  of  fair  Italy. 
With  thee  on  Raphael's  monument  I  mourn, 
Or  wait  inspiring  dreams  at  Maro's  urn : 
With  thee  repose  where  Tully  once  was  laid, 
Or  seek  some  ruin's  formidable  shade  : 
While  fancy  brings  the  vanish'd  piles  to  view, 
And  builds  imaginary  Rome  anew. 
Here  thy  well-studied  marbles  fix  our  eye  ; 
A  fading  fresco  here  demands  a  sigh  : 
Each  heavenly  piece  unwearied  we  compare, 
Match  Raphael's  grace  with  thy  loved  Guido's  aii; 


102 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Caracci's  strength,  Corregio's  softer  line, 
Paulo's  free  stroke,  and  Titian's  warmth  divine. 

How  finish'd  with  illustrious  toil  appears 
This  small  well-polish'd  gem,  the  work  of  years  . 
Yet  still  how  faint  by  precept  is  express'd 
The  living  image  in  the  painter's  breast ! 
Thence  endless  streams  of  fair  ideas  flow, 
Strike  in  the  sketch,  or  in  the  picture  glow  ; 
Thence  beauty,  waking  all  her  forms,  supplies 
An  angel's  sweetness,  or  Bridgewater's  eyes. 

Muse  !  at  that  name  thy  sacred  sorrows  shed, 
Those  tears  eternal  that  embalm  the  dead  ! 
Call  round  her  tomb  each  object  of  desire, 
Each  purer  frame  inform'd  with  purer  fire  : 
Bid  her  be  all  that  cheers  or  softens  life, 
The  tender  sister,  daughter,  friend,  and  wife  : 
Bid  her  be  all  that  makes  mankind  adore  ; 
Then  view  this  marble,  and  be  vain  no  more  ! 

Yet  still  her  charms  in  breathing  paint  engage  ; 
Her  modest  cheek  shall  warm  a  future  age. 
Beauty,  frail  flower  that  every  season  fears, 
Blooms  in  thy  colours  for  a  thousand  years. 
Thus  Churchill's  race  shall  other  hearts  surprise, 
And  other  beauties  envy  Worsley's  eyes; 
Each  pleasing  Blount  shall  endless  smiles  bestow 
And  soft  Belinda's  blush  for  ever  glow. 

Oh,  lasting  as  those  colours  may  they  shine, 
Free  as  thy  stroke,  yet  faultless  as  thy  line  ; 
New  graces  yearly  like  thy  works  display, 
Soft  without  weakness,  without  glaring  gay  ; 
Led  by  some  rule,  that  guides,  but  not  constrains 
And  finish'd  more  through  happiness  than  pains ! 
The  kindred  arts  shall  in  their  praise  conspire, 
One  dip  the  pencil,  and  one  string  the  lyre. 
Yet  should  the  Graces  all  thy  figures  place, 
And  breathe  an  air  divine  on  every  face  ; 
Yet  should  the  Muses  bid  my  numbers  roll 
Strong  as  their  charms,  and  gentle  as  their  soul ; 


MISCELLANIES.  103 

With  Zeuxis'  Helen  thy  Bridgewater  vie, 
And  these  be  sung  till  Granville's  Myra  die  ; 
Alas !  how  little  from  the  grave  we  claim ! 
Thou  but  preserv'st  a  face,  and  I  a  name. 


EPISTLE  TO  MISS  BLOUNT ; 

With  the  Works  of  Voiture. 

IN  these  gay  thoughts  the  loves  and  graces  shine 
And  all  the  writer  lives  in  every  line  : 
His  easy  art  may  happy  nature  seem, 
Trifles  themselves  are  elegant  in  him. 
Sure  to  charm  all  was  his  peculiar  fate, 
Who  without  flattery  pleased  the  fair  and  great ; 
Still  with  esteem  no  less  conversed  than  read ; 
With  wit  well-natured,  and  with  books  well-bred : 
His  heart,  his  mistress  and  his  friend  did  share ; 
His  time,  the  muse,  the  witty,  and  the  fair. 
Thus  wisely  careless,  innocently  gay, 
Cheerful  he  play'd  the  trifle,  life,  away  ; 
Till  fate,  scarce  felt,  his  gentle  breath  suppress'd, 
As  smiling  infants  sport  themselves  to  rest. 
E'en  rival  wits  did  Voiture's  death  deplore, 
And  the  gay  mourn'd  who  never  mourn'd  before; 
The  truest  hearts  for  Voiture  heaved  with  sighs, 
Voiture  was  wept  by  all  the  brightest  eyes  : 
The  smiles  and  loves  had  died  in  Voiture's  death, 
But  that  for  ever  in  his  lines  they  breathe. 

Let  the  strict  life  of  graver  mortals  be 
A  long,  exact,  and  serious  comedy ; 
In  every  scene  some  moral  let  it  teach, 
And,  if  it  can,  at  once  both  please  and  preach. 
Let  mine,  an  innocent  gay  farce  appear, 
And  more  diverting  still  than  regular, 
Have  humour,  wit,  a  native  ease  and  grace, 
Though  not  too  strictly  bound  to  time  and  place : 


104        POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Critics  in  wit,  or  life,  are  hard  to  please ; 

Few  write  to  those  and  none  can  live  to  these. 

Too  much  your  sex  are  by  their  forms  confined, 
Severe  to  all,  but  most  to  womankind  ; 
Custom,  grown  blind  with  age,  must  be  your  guide 
Your  pleasure  is  a  vice,  but  not  your  pride  ; 
By  nature  yielding,  stubborn  but  for  fame ; 
Made  slaves  by  honour,  and  made  fools  by  shame. 
Marriage  may  all  those  petty  tyrants  chase, 
But  sets  up  one,  a  greater,  in  their  place  : 
Well  might  you  wish  for  change  by  those  accursed, 
But  the  last  tyrant  ever  proves  the  worst. 
Still  in  constraint  your  suffering  sex  remains, 
Or  bound  in  formal,  or  in  real  chains  : 
Whole  years  neglected,  for  some  months  adored, 
The  fawning  servant  turns  a  haughty  lord. 
Ah,  quit  not  the  free  innocence  of  life, 
For  the  dull  glory  of  a  virtuous  wife  ; 
Nor  let  false  shows,  nor  empty  titles  please: 
Aim  not  at  joy,  but  rest  content  with  ease. 

The  gods,  to  curse  Pamela  with  her  prayers. 
Gave  the  gilt  coach  and  dappled  Flanders  mares, 
The  shining  robes,  rich  jewels,  beds  of  state, 
And,  to  complete  her  bliss,  a  fool  for  mate. 
She  glares  in  balls,  front  boxes,  and  the  ring, 
A  vain,  unquiet,  glittering,  wretched  thing! 
Pride,  pomp,  and  state,  but  reach  her  outward  part 
She  sighs,  and  is  no  dutchrss  at  her  heart. 

But,  madam,  if  the  fates  withstand,  and  you 
Are  destined  Hymen's  willing  victim  too  ; 
Trust  not  too  much  your  now  resistless  charms, 
Those,  age  or  sickness,  soon  or  late,  disarms  : 
Good-humour  only  teaches  charms  to  last, 
Still  makes  new  conquests,  and  maintains  the  pas.', 
Love  raised  on  beauty  will,  like  that,  decay, 
Our  hearts  may  bear  its  slender  chain  a  day ; 
As  flowery  bands  in  wantonness  are  worn, 
A  morning's  pleasure,  and  at  evening  torn  ; 


MISCELLANIES. 


105 


This  binds  in  ties  more  easy,  yet  more  strong, 
The  willing  heart,  and  only  holds  it  long. 

Thus  Voiture's*  early  care  still  shone  the  same, 
And  Monthausier  was  only  changed  in  name  ; 
By  this,  e'en  now  they  live,  e'en  now  they  charm, 
Their  wit  still  sparkling,  and  their  flames  still  warm. 

Now  crown'd  with  myrtle  on  the  Elysian  coast, 
Amid  those  lovers,  joys  his  gentle  ghost : 
Pleased,    while   with   smiles   his    happy    lines   you 

view, 

And  finds  a  fairer  Rambouillet  in  you. 
The  brightest  eyes  in  France  inspired  his  muse ; 
The  brightest  eyes  in  Britain  now  peruse ; 
And  dead,  as  living,  'tis  our  author's  pride 
Still  to  charm  those  who  charm  the  world  beside. 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  SAME, 
On  her  leaving  live  Town,  after  the  Coronation,  1715 

As  some  fond  virgin,  whom  her  mother's  care 
Drags  from  the  town  to  wholesome  country  air, 
Just  when  she  learns  to  roll  a  melting  eye, 
And  hear  a  spark,  yet  think  no  danger  nigh ; 
From  the  dear  man  unwilling  she  must  sever, 
Yet  takes  one  kiss  before  she  parts  for  ever ; 
Thus  from  the  world  fair  Zephalinda  flew, 
Saw  others  happy,  and  with  sighs  withdrew ; 
Not  that  their  pleasures  caused  her  discontent, 
She  sigh'd,  not  that  they  stay'd  but  that  she  went. 

She  went  to  plain-work,  arir1  to  purling  brooks, 
Old-fashion'd  halls,  dull  aunts,  and  croaking  rooks  : 
She  went  from  opera,  park,  assembly,  play, 
To  morning  walks,  and  prayers  three  hours  a-day; 
To  part  her  time  'twixt  reading  and  bohea, 
To  muse,  and  spill  her  solitary  tea  ; 


Vol..  II. 


*  Mademoiselle  Paulet. 

8 


106 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Or  o'er  cold  coffee  trifle  with  the  spoon, 

Count  the  slow  clock,  and  dine  exact  at  noon  ; 

Divert  her  eyes  with  pictures  in  the  fire, 

Hum  half  a  tune,  tell  stories  to  the  'squire ; 

Up  to  her  godly  garret  after  seven, 

There  starve  and  pray,  for  that 's  the  way  to  heaven 

Some  'squire,  perhaps,  you  take  delight  to  rack  ; 
Whose  game  is  whist,  whose  treat  a  toast  in  sack : 
Who  visits  with  a  gun,  presents  you  birds, 
Then  gives  a  smacking  buss,  and  cries, — '  No  words ! 
Or  with  his  hounds  comes  hallooing  from  the  stable, 
Makes  love  with  nods,  and  knees  beneath  a  table  ; 
Whose    laughs    are    hearty,    though   his   jests   are 

coarse, 
And  loves  you  best  of  all  things — but  his  horse. 

In  some  fair  evening,  on  your  elbow  laid, 
You  dream  of  triumphs  in  the  rural  shade  ; 
In  pensive  thought  recall  the  fancied  scene, 
See  coronations  rise  on  every  green  ; 
Before  you  pass  the  imaginary  sights 
Of  lords,  and  earls,  and  dukes,  and  garter'd  knights, 
While  the  spread  fan  o'ershades  your  closing  eyes; 
Then  give  one  flirt,  and  all  the  vision  flies. 
Thus  vanish  sceptres,  coronets,  and  balls, 
And  leave  you  in  lone  woods,  or  empty  walls! 

So  when  your  slave,  at  some  dear  idle  time, 
Not  plagued  with  headaches,  or  the  want  of  rhyme, 
Stands  in  the  streets,  abstracted  from  the  crew, 
And  while  he  seems  to  study,  thinks  of  you ; 
Just  when  his  fancy  paints  your  sprightly  eyes, 
Or  sees  the  blush  of  soft  Parthenia  rise, 
Gay  pats  my  shoulder,  i.nd  you  vanish  quite, 
Streets,  chairs,  and  coxcombs,  rush  upon  my  sight , 
Vex'd  to  be  still  in  town  I  knit  my  brow, 
Look  sour,  and  hum  a  tune,  as  you  may  now. 


MISCELLANIES.  107 

THE  BASSET-TABLE, 

AN  ECLOGUE. 

CARDELIA.    SMILINDA. 
CARDELIA. 

THE  basset-table  spread,  the  tallier  come ; 
Why  stays  Smilinda  in  the  dressing-room  ? 
Rise,  pensive  nymph ;  the  tallier  waits  for  you. 

SMILINDA. 

Ah,  madam,  since  my  Sharper  is  untrue, 
joyless  make  my  once  adored  alphiew. 
J  saw  him  stand  behind  Ombrelia's  chair, 
And  whisper  with  that  soft  deluding  air, 
And  those  feign'd  sighs  which  cheat  the  list'ning  fair 

CARDELIA. 

Is  this  the  cause  of  your  romantic  strains  ? 
A  mightier  grief  my  heavy  heart  sustains. 
As  you  by  love,  so  I  by  fortune  cross'd  ; 
One,  one  bad  deal,  three  septlevas  have  lost. 
SMILINDA 

Is  that  the  grief  which  you  compare  with  mine  ? 
With  ease  the  smiles  of  fortune  I  resign  : 
Would  all  my  gold  in  one  bad  deal  were  gone, 
Were  lovely  Sharper  mine,  and  mine  alone. 
CARDELIA. 

A  lover  lost,  is  but  a  common  care ; 
And  prudent  nymphs  against  that  change  prepare  : 
The  knave  of  clubs  thrice  lost ;  oh !  who  could  guea 
This  fatal  stroke,  this  unforeseen  distress  ? 
SMILINDA. 

See  Betty  Lovet !  very  a-propos, 
She  all  the  cares  of  love  and  play  does  know: 
Dear  Betty  shall  the  important  point  decide ; 
Betty  who  oft  the  pain  of  each  has  tried  : 


1C8          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Impartial,  she  shall  say  who  suffers  most, 
By  cards,  ill-usage,  or  by  lovers  lost. 

LOVET. 

Tell,  tell  your  griefs  ;  attentive  will  I  stay, 
Though  time  is  precious,  and  I  want  some  tea 

CARDELIA. 

Behold  this  equipage,  by  Mathers  wrought, 
With  fifty  guineas  (a  great  penn'worth)  bought. 
See,  on  the  tooth-pick  JVTars  and  Cupid  strive; 
And  both  the  struggling  figures  seem  alive. 
Upon  the  bottom  shines  the  queen's  bright  face : 
A  myrtle  foliage  round  the  thimble-case. 
Jove,  Jove  himself  does  on  the  scissars  shine; 
The  metal,  and  the  workmanship,  divine  ! 
SMILJNDA. 

This  snuff-box ;  once  the  pledge  of  Sharper's  love- 
When  rival  beauties  for  the  present  strove  ; 
At  Corticelli's  he  the  raffle  won ; 
Then  first  his  passion  was  in  public  shown  . 
Hazardia  blush  d,  and  turn'd  her  head  aside, 
A  rival's  envy  (all  in  vain)  to  hide, 
This  snuff-box, — on  the  hinge  see  brilliants  shine ! 
This  snuff-box  will  I  stake  ;  the  prize  is  mine. 

CARDELIA. 

Alas !  far  lesser  losses  than  I  bear, 
Have  made  a  soldier  sigh,  a  lover  swear. 
And,  oh  !  what  makes  the  disappointment  hard, 
Twas  my  own  lord  that  drew  the  fatal  card. 
In  complaisance  I  took  the  queen  he  gave ; 
Though  my  own  secret  wish  was  for  the  knave 
The  knave  won  sonica,  which  I  had  chose 
And  the  next  puil,  my  septleva  I  lose. 
SMILI.NDA. 

But,  ah!  what  aggravates  the  killing  smart, 
The  cruel  thought,  that  stabs  me  to  the  heart ; 
This  cursed  Ombrelia,  this  undoing  fair, 
By  whose  vile  arts  this  heavy  grief  I  bear ; 


MISCELLANIES.  109 

She,  at  whose  name  I  shed  these  spiteful  tears, 
She  owes  to  me  the  very  charms  she  wears. 
An  awkward  thing  when  first  she  came  to  town ; 
Her  shape  unfashion'd,  and  her  face  unknown : 
She  was  my  friend ;  I  taught  her  first  to  spread 
Upon  her  sallow  cheeks  enlivening  red : 
I  introduced  her  to  the  park  and  plays  ; 
And  by  my  interest,  Cozens  made  her  stays. 
Ungrateful  wretch,  with  mimic  airs  grown  pert, 
She  dares  to  steal  my  favourite  lover's  heart ! 

CARDELIA. 

Wretch  that  I  was !  how  often  have  I  swore, 
When  Winnall  tallied,  I  would  punt  no  more  ! 
I  know  the  bite,  yet  to  my  ruin  run  ; 
And  see  the  folly,  which  I  cannot  shun. 

SMILINOA. 

How  many  maids  have  Sharper's  vows  deceived  • 
How  many  cursed  the  moment  they  believed ! 
Yet  his  known  falsehoods  could  no  warning  prove  • 
Ah !  what  is  warning  to  a  maid  in  love  ? 
CARDELIA. 

But  of  what  marble  must  that  breast  be  form'd, 
To  gaze  on  Basset,  and  remain  unwarm'd  ? 
When  kings,  queens,  knaves,  are  set  in  decent  rank  , 
Exposed  in  glorious  heaps  the  tempting  bank, 
Guineas,  half-guineas,  all  the  shining  train ; 
The  winner's  pleasure,  and  the  loser's  pain : 
In  bright  confusion  open  rouleaus  lie. 
They  strike  the  soul,  and  glitter  in  the  eye. 
Fired  by  the  sight,  all  reason  1  disdain  ; 
My  passions  rise,  and  will  not  bear  the  rein. 
Look  upon  Basset,  you  who  reason  boast ; 
And  see  if  reason  must  not  there  be  lost. 

SM1J-INIM. 

What  more  than  marble  must  that  heart  compos*, 
Can  hearken  coldly  to  my  Sharper's  vows  ? 


110         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Then,  when  he  trembles  !  when  his  blushes  rise 
When  awful  love  seems  melting  in  his  eyes  ! 
With  eager  beats  his  Mechlin  cravat  moves  : 
He  loves, — I  whisper  to  myself,  '  He  loves  !' 
Such  unfeign'd  passion  in  his  looks  appears, 
I  lose  all  memory  of  my  former  fears  ; 
My  panting  heart  confesses  all  his  charms, 
I  yield  at  once,  and  sink  into  his  arms. 
Think  of  that  moment,  you  who  prudence  boast 
For  such  a  moment,  prudence  well  were  lost. 

CARDELIA. 

At  the  Groom-porter's  batter'd  bullies  play, 
Some  dukes  at  Marybone  bowl  time  away. 
But  who  the  bowl,  or  rattling  dice  compares 
To  Basset's  heavenly  joys,  and  pleasing  cares  ? 
SMILINDA. 

Soft  Simplicetta  dotes  upon  a  beau; 
Prudina  likes  a  man,  and  laughs  at  show. 
Their  several  graces  in  my  Sharper  meet ; 
Strong  as  the  footman,  as  the  master  sweet. 
LOVET. 

Cease  your  contention,  which  has  been  too  long , 
1  grow  impatient,  and  the  tea's  too  strong. 
Attend,  and  yield  to  what  I  now  decide  ; 
The  equipage  shall  grace  Smilinda's  side  : 
The  snuff-box  to  Cardelia  I  decree  ; 
Now  leave  complaining,  and  begin  your  tea. 


VERBATIM  FROM  BOILEAU. 

Unjour,  dit  un  auleur,  Sfc. 
ONCE  (says  an  author,  where  I  need  not  say) 
Two  travellers  found  an  oyster  in  their  way  ; 
Both  fierce,  both  hungry,  the  dispute  grew  strong 
While,  scale  in  hand,  dame  Justice  pass'd  along. 
Before  her  each  with  clamour  pleads  the  laws  ; 
Explain'd  the  matter,  and  would  win  the  cause. 


'    MISCELLANIES.  Ill 

Dame  Justice  weighing  long  the  doubtful  right, 
Takes,  opens,  swallows  it,  before  their  sight. 
The  cause  of  strife  removed  so  rarely  well, 
'  There,  take,'  says  Justice, '  take  you  each  a  shell  . 
We  thrive  at  Westminster  on  fools  like  you : 
'Twas  a  fat  oyster — Live  in  peace — Adieu.' 


ANSWER  TO  THE  FOLLOWING  QUES- 
TION  OF  MRS.  HOWE. 

'  WHAT  is  prudery  ?' — 'Tis  a  beldam, 
Seen  with  wit  and  beauty  seldom. 
'Tis  a  fear  that  starts  at  shadows  : 
'Tis  (no,  'tis  n't)  like  miss  Meadows ; 
'Tis  a  virgin  hard  of  feature, 
Old,  and  void  of  all  good-nature; 
Lean  and  fretful ;  would  seem  wise  ; 
Yet  plays  the  fool  before  she  dies. 
'Tis  an  ugly,  envious  shrew, 
That  rails  at  dear  Lepell  and  you. 


Occasioned  by  some  Verses  of 
HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM. 

MUSE,  'tis  enough :  at  length  thy  labour  ends, 
And  thou  shall  live,  for  Buckingham  commends. 
Let  crowds  of  critics  now  my  verse  assail, 
Let  Dennis  write,  and  nameless  numbers  rail : 
This  more  than  pays  whole  years  of  thankless  pain, 
Time,  health,  and  fortune,  are  not  lost  in  vain. 
Sheffield  approves,  consenting  Phoebus  bends, 
And  I  and  malice  from  this  hour  are  friends. 


112         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

PROLOGUE  BY  MR.  POPE, 

To  a  Play  for  Mr.  Dennis's  Benefit,  in  1733,  when  lit 
'     was  old,  blind,  and  in  great  distress,  a  little  before 

his  Death. 

As  when  the  hero,  who  in  each  campaign 
Had  braved  the  Goth,  and  many  a  Vandal  slain, 
Lay  fortune-struck,  a  spectacle  of  woe  ! 
Wept  by  each  friend,  forgiven  by  every  foe  : 
Was  there  a  generous,  a  reflecting  mind. 
But  pitied  Belisarius  old  and  blind  ? 
Was  there  a  chief  but  melted  at  the  sight  ? 
A  common  soldier,  but  who  clubb'd  his  mite  ? 
Such,  such  emotions  should  in  Britons  rise, 
When  press'd  by  want  and  weakness  Dennis  lies 
Dennis,  who  long  had  warr'd  with  modern  Huns 
Their  quibbles  routed,  and  defied  their  puns ; 
A  desperate  bulwark,  sturdy,  firm,  and  fierce, 
Against  the  Gothic  sons  of  frozen  verse  : 
How  changed  from  him  who  made  the  boxes  groa« 
And  shook  the  stage  with  thunder  all  his  own  ! 
Stood  up  to  dash  each  vain  pretender's  hope, 
Maul  the  French  tyrant,  or  pull  down  the  pope  ! 
If  there 's  a  Briton  then,  true  bred  and  born, 
Who  holds  dragoons  and  wooden  shoes  in  scorn  ; 
If  there's  a  critic  of  distinguish' d  rage  ; 
If  there's  a  senior,  who  contemns  this  age; 
Let  him  to  night  his  just  assistance  lend, 
And  be  the  critic's,  Briton's,  old  man's  friend. 


PROLOGUE  TO  SOPHONISBA. 

By  Pope  and  Mallet.* 

WHEN  earning,  after  the  long  Gothic  night, 
Fair,  o'er  the  western  world  renew'd  its  light, 

*  I  have  been  told  by  Savage,  that  of  the  Prologue  to 
6ophonisba,  the  first  part  was  written  by  Pope,  who  could 


MISCELLANIES. 


113 


With  arts  arising,  Soplionisba  rose  : 
The  tragic  muse,  returning,  wept  her  woes. 
With  her  the  Italian  scene  first  learn'd  to  glow ; 
And  the  first  tears  for  her  were  taught  to  flow. 
Her  charms  the  Gallic  muses  next  inspired  : 
Corneille  himself  saw,  wonder'd,  and  was  fired. 

What  foreign  theatres  with  pride  have  shown, 
Britain,  by  justcr  title,  makes  her  own. 
When  freedom  is  the  cause,  'tis  hers  to  fight ; 
And  hers,  when  freedom  is  the  theme,  to  write: 
For  this  a  British  author  bids  again 
The  heroine  rise,  to  grace  the  British  scene. 
Here,  as  in  life,  she  breathes  her  genuine  flame ; 
She  asks  what  bosom  has  not  felt  the  same  ? 
Ask  of  the  British  youth— Is  silence  there? 
She  dares  to  ask  it  of  the  British  fair. 

To  night  our  home-spun  author  would  be  true, 
At  once  to  nature,  history,  and  you. 
Well-pleased  to  give  our  neighbours  due  applause, 
He  owns  their  learning,  but  disdains  their  laws. 
Not  to  his  patient  touch,  or  happy  flame, 
'Tis  to  his  British  heart  he  trusts  for  fame. 
If  France  excel  him  in  one  free-born  thought, 
The  man,  as  well  as  poet,  is  in  fault. 

Nature  !  informer  of  the  poet's  art, 
Whose  force  alone  can  raise  or  melt  the  heart, 
Thou  art  his  guide ;  each  passion,  every  line, 
Whate'er  he  draws  to  please,  must  all  be  thine. 
Be  thou  his  judge  :  in  every  candid  breast, 
Thy  silent  whisper  is  the  sacred  test. 


MACER :— A  CHARACTER. 

WHEN  simple  Macer,  now  of  high  renown, 
First  sought  a  poet's  fortune  in  the  town, 

not  be  persuaded  to  finish  it ;  and  that  the  concluding 
Unes  were  written  by  Mallet  —Dr.  Johnson. 


114          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

'Twas  all  the  ambition  his  high  soul  could  feel, 
To  wear  red  stockings,  and  to  dine  with  Steele. 
Some  ends  of  verse  his  betters  might  afford ; 
And  gave  the  harmless  fellow  a  good  word. 
Set  up  with  these,  he  ventured  on  the  town, 
And  with  a  borrow'd  play  outdid  poor  Crown. 
There  he  stopp'd  short,  nor  since  has  writ  a  tittle, 
But  has  the  wit  to  make  the  most  of  little : 
Like  stunted  hide-bound  trees,  that  just  have  got 
Sufficient  sap  at  once  to  bear  and  rot. 
Now  he  begs  verse,  and  what  he  gets  commends, 
Not  of  the  wits  his  foes,  but  fools  his  friends. 

So  some  coarse  country-wench,  almost  decay'd, 
Trudges  to  town,  and  first  turns  chambermaid  ; 
Awkward  and  supple,  each  devoir  to  pay, 
She  flatters  her  good  lady  twice  a-day  ; 
Thought  wondrous  honest,  though  of  mean  degree, 
And  strangely  liked  for  her  simplicity  :  • 
In  a  translated  suit,  then  tries  the  town, 
With  borrow'd  pins,  and  patches  not  her  own; 
But  just  endured  the  winter  she  began, 
And  in  four  months  a  batter'd  harridan. 
Now  nothing  left,  but  wither'd,  pale,  and  shrunk, 
To  bawd  for  others,  and  go  shares  with  punk. 


TO  MR.  JOHN  MOORE, 

Author  of  the  celebrated  Worm-Powder 
How  much,  egregious  Moore,  are  we 

Deceived  by  shows  and  forms  ! 
Whate'er  we  think,  whate'er  we  see, 

All  human  kind  are  worms. 
Man  is  a  very  worm  by  birth, 

Vile,  reptile,  weak,  and  vain  ! 
A  while  he  crawls  upon  the  earth. 

Then  shrinks  to  earth  again 


MISCELLANIES.  115 

That  woman  is  a  worm,  we  find 

E'er  since  our  grandame's  evil ; 
She  first  conversed  with  her  own  kind, 

That  ancient  worm,  the  devil. 

The  learn'd  themselves  we  book-worms  name ; 

The  blockhead  is  a  slow-worm  ; 
The  nymph  whose  tail  is  all  on  flame, 

Is  aptly  term'd  a  glow-worm. 
The  fops  are  painted  butterflies, 

That  flutter  for  a  day  ; 
First  from  a  worm  they  take  their  rise, 

And  in  a  worm  decay. 
The  flatterer  an  earwig  grows ; 

Thus  worms  suit  all  conditions  : 
Misers  are  muck-worms,  silk-worms  beaus, 

And  death-watches  physicians. 
That  statesmen  have  the  worm,  is  seen 

By  all  their  winding  play  ; 
Their  conscience  is  a  worm  within, 

That  gnaws  them  night  and  day. 
Ah,  Moore !  thy  skill  were  well  ernploy'd, 

And  greater  gain  would  rise, 
If  thou  couldst  make  the  courtier  void 

The  worm  that  never  dies. 
O  learned  friend  of  Abchurch-lane, 

Who  setst  our  entrails  free  ; 
Vain  is  thy  art,  thy  powder  vain, 

Since  worms  shall  eat  e'en  thee. 
Our  fate  thou  only  canst  adjourn 

Some  few  short  years,  no  more  ! 
E'en  Button's  wits  to  worms  shall  turn, 

Who  maggots  were  before. 


116          rOPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

SONG  BY  A  PERSON  OF  QUALITY 

Written  in  the  Year  1733. 
FLUTTERING  spread  thy  purple  pinions, 

Gentle  Cupid,  o'er  my  heart ; 
I  a  slave  in  thy  dominions; 

Nature  must  give  way  to  art. 
Mild  Arcadians,  ever  blooming. 

Nightly  nodding  o'er  your  flocks, 
See  my  weary  days  consuming, 

All  beneath  yon  flowery  rocks. 

Thus  the  Cyprian  goddess  weeping, 
Mourn'd  Adonis,  darling  youth ; 

Him  the  boar,  in  silence  creeping, 
Gored  with  unrelenting  tooth. 

Cynthia,  tune  harmonious  numbers  ; 

Fair  discretion,  string  the  lyre  ; 
Soothe  my  ever-waking  slumbers  : 

Bright  Apollo,  lend  thy  choir. 

Gloomy  Pluto,  king  of  terrors, 

Arm'd  in  adamantine  chains, 
Lead  me  to  the  crystal  mirrors, 

Watering  soft  Elysian  plains. 

Mournful  cypress,  verdant  willow, 

Gilding  my  Aurelia's  brows, 
Morpheus  hovering  o'er  my  pillow, 

Hear  me  pay  my  dying  vows. 
Melancholy  smooth  Maeander, 

Swiftly  purling  in  a  round, 
On  thy  margin  lovers  wander, 

With  thy  flowery  chaplets  crownM 
Thus  when  Philomela  drooping, 

Softly  seeks  her  silent  mate, 
See  the  bird  of  Juno  stooping.- 

Melody  resigns  to  fate. 


MISCELLANIES.  117 

ON  A  CERTAIN  LADY  AT  COURT. 

1  KNOW  the  thing  that 's  most  uncommon  ; 

(Envy,  be  silent  and  attend !) 
I  know  a  reasonable  woman, 

Handsome  and  witty,  yet  a  friend. 

Not  warp'd  by  passion,  awed  by  rumour, 

Not  grave  through  pride,  nor  gay  through  folly : 
An  equal  mixture  of  good-humour, 

And  sensible  soft  melancholy. 
*  Has  she  no  faults,  then,'  Envy  says, '  sir  ?' 

Yes,  she  has  one,  I  must  aver: 
When  all  the  world  conspires  to  praise  her, 

The  woman 's  deaf,  and  does  not  hear. 


ON  HIS  GROTTO  AT  TWICKENHAM, 

Composed  of  Marble,  Spars,  Gems,  Ores,  and 

Minerals- 

THOU  who  shall  drop,where  Thames  translucent  wava 
Shines  a  broad  mirror  through  the  shadowy  cave ; 
Where  lingering  drops  from  mineral  roofs  distil, 
And  pointed  crystals  break  the  sparkling  rill, 
Unpolish'd  gems  no  ray  on  pride  bestow, 
And  latent  metals  innocently  glow  : 
Approach.    Great  Nature  studiously  behold ! 
And  eye  the  mine,  without  a  wish  for  gold. 
Approach ;  but  awful !  lo  !  the  .^Egerian  grot, 
Where,  nobly  pensive,  St.  John  sat  and  thought ; 
Where  British  sighs  from  dying  Wyndham  stole, 
And  the  bright  flame  was  shot  through  Marchmont'a 
Let  such,  such  only,  tread  this  sacred  floor,       [soul 
Who  dare  to  love  their  country,  and  the  poor. 


118         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

TO  MRS.  M.  B.  ON  HER  BIRTH-DAY. 

OH,  be  them  bless'd  with  all  that  Heaven  can  send, 
Long  health,  long  youth,  long  pleasure,  and  a  friend 
Not  with  those  toys  the  female  world  admire, 
Riches  that  vex,  and  vanities  that  tire. 
With  added  years,  if  life  bring  nothing  new, 
But  like  a  sieve  let  every  blessing  through, 
Some  joy  still  lost,  as  each  vain  year  runs  o'er, 
And  all  we  gain,  some  sad  reflection  more ; 
Is  that  a  birth  day  ?  'tis,  alas  !  too  clear, 
'Tis  but  the  funeral  of  the  former  year. 

Let  joy  or  ease,  let  affluence  or  content, 
And  the  gay  conscience  of  a  life  well  spent, 
Calm  every  thought,  inspirit  every  grace, 
Glow  in  thy  heart,  and  smile  upon  thy  face. 
Let  day  improve  on  day,  and  year  on  year, 
Without  a  pain,  a  trouble,  or  a  fear ; 
Till  death  unfelt  that  tender  frame  destroy, 
In  some  soft  dream,  or  ecstacy  of  joy. 
Peaceful  sleep  out  the  sabbath  of  the  tomb, 
And  wake  to  raptures  in  a  life  to  come. 


TO  MR.  THOMAS  SOUTHERN, 

On  his  Birth-day,  1742. 
RESIGN'D  to  live,  prepared  to  die, 
With  not  one  sin  but  poetry, 
This  day  Tom's  fair  account  has  run 
(Without  a  blot)  to  eighty-one. 
Kind  Boyle,  before  his  poet,  lays 
A  table,  with  a  cloth  of  bays ; 
And  Ireland,  mother  of  sweet  singers, 
Presents  her  harp  still  to  his  fingers. 
The  feast,  his  towering  genius  marks 
In  yonder  wild-goose  and  the  larks ! 
The  mushrooms  show  his  wit  was  sudden ! 
And  for  his  judgment,  lo  !  a  pudden  ! 


MISCELLANIES.  119 

Roast  beef,  though  old,  proclaims  him  stout, 
And  grace,  although  a  bard,  devout. 
May  Tom,  whom  heaven  sent  down  to  raise 
The  price  of  prologues  and  of  plays, 
Be  every  birth-day  more  a  winner, 
Digest  his  thirty  thousandth  dinner ; 
Walk  to  his  grave  without  reproach, 
And  scorn  a  rascal  and  a  coach. 


TO  LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGUE.* 

IN  beauty  or  wit, 

No  mortal  as  yet, 
To  question  your  empire  has  dared  ; 

But  men  of  discerning 

Have  thought  that  in  learning, 
To  yield  to  a  lady  was  hard. 

Impertinent  schools, 

With  musty  dull  rules, 
Have  reading  to  females  denied : 

So  papists  refuse 

The  Bible  to  use, 
Lest  flocks  should  be  wise  as  their  guide. 

'Twas  a  woman  at  first 

(Indeed  she  was  cursed) 
In  knowledge  that  tasted  delight, 

And  sages  agree 

That  laws  should  decree 
To  the  first  of  possessors  the  right. 

"This  panegyric  on  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague 
might  have  been  suppressed  by  Mr.  Pope,  on  account  -jf 
her  having  satirized  him  in  her  verses  to  the  imitator  of 
Horace  ;  which  abuse  he  returned  in  the  first  satire  of 
the  second  hook  of  Horace. 

From  furious  Sappho,  scarce  a  milder  fate 
P— 'd  by  her  love,  or  libell'd  by  her  hate. 


120         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Then  bravely,  fair  dame, 
Resume  the  old  claim, 

Which  to  your  whole  sex  does  belong ; 
And  let  men  receive, 
From  a  second  bright  Eve, 

The  knowledge  of  right  and  of  wrong. 
But  if  the  first  Eve, 
Hard  doom  did  receive, 

When  only  one  apple  had  she, 
What  a  punishment  new 
Shall  be  found  out  for  you, 

Who  tasting,  have  robb'd  the  whole  tree ! 


EPISTLE  IV,  OF  BOOK  I,  OF  HORACE'S 

EPISTLES.* 
A  modern  Imitation. 

SAY,t  St.  John,  who  alone  peruse 
With  candid  eye,  the  mimic  muse, 
What  schemes  of  politics,  or  laws, 
In  Gallic  lands  the  patriot  draws  ! 
Is  then  a  greater  work  in  hand, 
Than  all  the  tomes  of  Raines's  band  ? 
'  Or  shoots  he  folly  as  it  flies  ? 
Or  catches  manners  as  they  rise?'t 
Or,  urged  by  unquench'd  native  heat, 
§Does  St.  John  Greenwich  sports  repeat  ? 

*  This  satire  on  Lord  Bolingbroke,  and  the  praise  be- 
gtowed  on  him  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Richardson,  where  Mr. 
Pope  says, 

The  sons  shall  blush  their  fathers  were  his  foes: 
being  BO  contradictory,  probably  occasioned  the  forma 
to  be  suppressed.    S. 
t  Ad  Albium  Tibullum. 

Albi,  nostrorum  sermonum,  candide  judex, 
Quid  nunc  te  dicam  facerc  in  regione  Pedana? 
Scribere,  quod  Cassi  Panncnsis  opuscula  vincat. 
t  The  lines  here  quoted  occur  in  the  Essay  on  Man. 
§  An  taciturn  silvas  inter  reptare  salubres? 


MISCELLANIES.  121 

Where  (emulous  of  Chartres'  fame) 
E'en  Chartres'  self  is  scarce  a  name. 

*  To  you  (the  all-envied  gift  of  heaven) 
The  indulgent  gods,  unask'd,  have  given 
A  form  complete  in  every  part, 
And,  to  enjoy  that  gift,  the  art. 
"1  What  could  a  tender  mother's  care 
Wish  better  to  her  favourite  heir, 
Than  wit,  and  fame,  and  lucky  hours, 
A  stock  of  health,  and  golden  showers, 
And  graceful  fluency  of  speech, 
Precepts  before  unknown  to  teach  ? 
t  Amidst  thy  various  ebbs  of  fear, 
And  gleaming  hope,  and  black  despair; 
Yet  let  thy  friend  this  truth  impart ; 
A  truth  I  tell  with  bleeding  heart 
(In  justice  for  your  labours  past,) 
$  That  every  day  shall  be  your  last , 
That  every  hour  you  life  renew 
Is  to  your  injured  country  due. 

In  spite  of  tears,  of  mercy  spite, 
My  genius  still  must  rail,  and  write. 
Haste  to  thy  Twickenham's  safe  retreat, 
And  mingle  with  the  grumbling  great: 
There,  half  devour'd  by  spleen,  you  '11  find 
The  rhyming  bubbler  of  mankind  ; 
There  (objects  of  our  mutual  hate) 
We  '11  ridicule  both  church  and  state. 


„ Di  tibi  formam 

Di  tibi  chvitias  dederunt,  artemque  fruendi. 

t  Quid  voveat  dulci  nutricula  majus  alunmo, 
Q.ui  sapern,  et  fari  possit  qua:  sentiat,  et  cui 
Gratia,  fama,  valetudo  continent  alnmde, 
non  deficiente  crumena? 

1  Inter  spem  curamque,  timores  inter  et  iras. 
Omnem  crede  diem  tilii  diluxisse  suprenium. 
Me  pin^uem  et  nitidum  beno  curata  cute  vises, 
Cum  ridere  voles  Epicuri  dc  fjrege  porcum. 
VOL.  II.  9 


122         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

EPIGRAM  ON  MRS.  TOFTS, 
A  handsome  Woman  with  a  fine  Voice,  but  very 

covetous  and  proud.* 

So  bright  is  thy  beauty,  so  charming  thy  song, 
As  had  drawn  both  the  beasts  and  their  Orpheus  along 
But  such  is  thy  avarice  and  such  is  thy  pride, 
That  the  beasts  must  have  starved,  and  the  poet 
have  died. 


EPIGRAM, 

On  one  who  made  long  Epitaphs.!' 
FRIEND,  for  your  epitaphs  I'm  grieved; 

Where  still  so  much  is  said, 
One  half  will  never  be  believed, 

The  other  never  read. 


TO  SIR  GODFREY  KNELLER, 

On  his  painting  for  me  the  Statues  of  Apolla, 

Venus,  and  Hercules. 
WHAT  god,  what  genius,  did  the  pencil  move 

When  Kneller  painted  these  ? 
'Twas  Friendship — warm  as  Phoebus,  kind  as  Love, 
And  strong  as  Hercules. 

*  This  epigram,  first  printed  anonymously  in  Steele's 
Collection,  and  copied  in  the  Miscellanies  of  Swift  and 
Pope,  is  ascribed  to  Pope  by  sir  John  Hawkins,  in  his 
History  of  Music— Mrs.  Tofts,  who  was  the  daughter  of 
a  person  in  the  family  of  Bishop  Burnet,  is  celebrated 
as  a  singer  little  inferior,  either  for  her  voice  or  manner 
to  the  best  Italian  women.  She  lived  at  the  introduc 
tion  of  the  opera  into  this  kingdom,  and  sung  in  compa 
ny  with  Nicolini ;  but,  being  ignorant  of  Italian,  chant 
ed  her  recitative  in  English,  in  answer  to  his  Italian ; 
yet  the  charms  of  their  voices  overcame  the  absurdity. 

t  It  is  not  generally  known  that  the  person  here 
meant  was  Dr.  Robert  Friend,  head  master  of  West 
minster-school 


MISCELLANIES.  188 

A  FAREWELL  TO  LONDON. 

In  the  Year  1715. 
DEAR,  damn'd  distracting  town,  farewell! 

Thy  fools  no  more  I  '11  tease  : 
This  year  in  peace,  ye  critics,  dwell, 

Ye  harlots,  sleep  at  ease. 

Soft  B***  and  rough  C*****,  adieu ! 

Earl  Warwick  make  your  moan, 
The  lively  H*****k  and  you 

May  knock  up  wholes  alone. 

To  drink  and  droll  be  Rowe  allow'd 

Till  the  third  watchman  toll ; 
Let  Jervis  gratis  paint,  and  Frowde 

Save  three-pence  and  his  soul. 

Farewell  Arbuthnot's  raillery 

On  every  learned  sot, 
And  Garth,  the  best  good  Christian  he, 

Although  he  knows  it  not. 

Lintot,  farewell ;  thy  bard  must  go ! 

Farewell,  unhappy  Tonson ! 
Heaven  gives  thee,  for  thy  loss  of  Rowo, 

Lean  Philips,  and  fat  Johnson. 
Why  should  I  stay  ?  Both  parties  rage ; 

My  vixen  mistress  squalls  ; 
The  wits  in  envious  feuds  engage ; 

And  Homer  (damn  him !)  calls. 

The  love  of  arts  lies  cold  and  dead 

In  Halifax's  urn ; 
And  not  one  Muse  of  all  he  fed, 

Has  yet  the  grace  to  mourn. 

My  friends,  by  turns,  my  friends  confound, 

Betray,  and  are  betray'd : 
Poor  Y***r's  sold  for  fifty  pound, 

And  B******ll  is  a  jade. 


124          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Why  make  I  friendships  with  the  great, 

When  I  no  favour  seek  ? 
Or  follow  girls  seven  hours  in  eight  ? — 

I  need  but  once  a  week. 

Still  idle,  with  a  busy  air, 

Deep  whimsies  to  contrive ; 
The  gayest  valetudinaire, 

Most  thinking  rake  alive. 
Solicitous  for  others'  ends, 

Though  fond  of  dear  repose ; 
Careless  or  drowsy  with  my  friends, 

And  frolic  with  my  foes. 
Luxurious  lobster-nights,  farewell, 

For  sober,  studious  days  ! 
And  Burlington's  delicious  meal, 

For  salads,  tarts,  and  pease  ! 
Adieu  to  all  but  Gay  alone, 

Whose  soul  sincere  and  free, 
Loves  all  mankind,  but  flatters  none, 

And  so  may  starve  with  me. 


A  DIALOGUE. 

Pope.       SINCE  my  old  friend  is  grown  so  great 
As  to  be  minister  of  state, 
I'm  told  (but  'tis  not  true  I  hope) 
That  Craggs  will  be  ashamed  of  Pope. 

Craggs.  Alas  !  if  I  am  such  a  creature, 

To  grow  the  worse  for  growing  greater, 
Why,  faith,  in  spite  of  all  my  brags, 
'Tis  Pope  must  be  ashamed  of  Craggs. 


MISCELLANIES.  125 

EPIGRAM, 

Engraved  an  the  Collar  of  a  Dog,  which  I  gave  to  his 
Royal  Highness. 

I  AM  hia  Highness'  dog  at  Kew  ; 
Pray  tell  me,  sir,  whose  dog,  are  you  ? 


EPIGRAM, 

Occasioned  by  an  Invitation  to  Court. 
IN  the  lines  that  you  sent  are  the  muses  and  graces : 
You've  the  nine  in  your  wit,  and  the  three  in  you: 
faces. 


ON  AN  OLD  GATE 

Erected  in  Chiswick  Gardens. 
O  GATE,  how  earnest  thou  here  ? 
Gate.    I  was  brought  from  Chelsea  last  year, 
Batter'd  with  wind  and  weather  ; 
Inigo  Jones  put  me  together ; 
Sir  Hans  Sloane 
Let  me  alone : 

Burlington  brought  me  hither. 
1742. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

WHAT  are  the  falling  rills,  the  pendent  shades. 
The  morning  bowers,  the  evening  colonnades, 
But  soft  recesses  for  the  uneasy  mind 
To  sigh  unheard  in,  to  the  passing  wind ! 
So  the  struck  deer,  in  some  sequester'd  part, 
Lies  down  to  die  (the  arrow  in  his  heart;) 
There  hid  in  shades,  and  wasting  day  by  day, 
Inly  he  bleeds,  and  pants  his  soul  away. 


126         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

VERSES  LEFT  BY  MR.  POPE, 

On  his  lying  in  the  same  Bed  which  Wilmol  the  cele 
brated  Earl  of  Rochester  slept  in,  at  Adderbury, 
then  belonging  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  July  Qth, 
1739. 

WITH  no  poetic  ardour  fired 

I  press'd  the  bed  where  Wilmot  lay ; 

That  here  he  loved,  or  here  expired, 
Begets  no  numbers  grave  or  gay. 

But  in  thy  roof,  Argyle,  are  bred 

Such  thoughts  as  prompt  the  brave  to  lie; 

Stretch'd  out  in  honour's  noble  bed, 
Beneath  a  nobler  roof — the  sky. 

Such  flames  as  high  in  patriots  burn, 
Yet  stoop  to  bless  a  child  or  wife  ; 

And  such  as  wicked  kings  may  mourn, 
When  freedom  is  more  dear  than  life 


VERSES  TO  MR.  C. 

St.  James's  Place,  London,  October  22. 
FEW  words  are  best ;  I  wish  you  well ; 

Bethel,  I'm  told,  will  soon  be  here  : 
Some  morning-walks  along  the  Mall, 

And  evening  friends,  will  end  the  year. 
If,  in  this  interval,  between 

The  falling  leaf  and  coming  frost, 
You  please  to  see,  on  Twit'nam  green, 

Your  friend,  your  poet,  and  your  host ; 
For  three  whole  days  you  here  may  rest, 

From  office,  business,  news,  and  strife 
And  (what  most  folks  would  think  a  jesi 

Want  nothing  else,  except  your  wife. 


(  127  ) 
EPITAPHS. 

His  saltern  accumulem  donis,  et  fungar  inani 
Munere !  VIKG 

ON  CHARLES  EARL  OF  DORSET, 

In  the  Church  of  Withyam,  in  Sussex. 
DORSET,  the  grace  of  courts,  the  Muses'  pride, 
Patron  of  arts,  and  judge  of  nature,  died. 
The  scourge  of  pride,  though  sanctified  or  great, 
Of  fops  in  learning,  and  of  knaves  in  state : 
Yet  soft  his  nature,  though  severe  his  lay ; 
His  anger  moral,  and  his  wisdom  gay. 
Bless'd  satirist !  who  touch'd  the  mean  so  true, 
As  show'd  vice  had  his  hate  and  pity  too. 
Bless'd  courtier !  who  could  king  and  country  please, 
Yet  sacred  keep  his  friendships,  and  his  ease. 
Bless'd  peer  !  his  great  forefathers'  every  grace 
Reflecting,  and  reflected  in  his  race  ; 
Where  other  Buckhursts,  other  Dorsets  shine, 
And  patrons  still,  or  poets,  deck  the  line. 


ON  SIR  WILLIAM  TRUMBALL, 

One  of  the  principal  Secretaries  of  State  to  King 
William  the  Third,  who,  having  resigned  his  place, 
died  in  his  Retirement  at  Easthamstead,  in  Berk 
shire,  1716. 

A  PLEASING  form  ;  a  firm,  yet  cautious  mind  ; 
Sincere,  though  prudent ;  constant,  yet  resign'd ; 
Honour  unchanged,  a  principle  profess'd, 
Fix'd  to  one  side,  but  moderate  to  the  rest : 
An  honest  courtier,  yet  a  patriot  too ; 
Just  to  his  prince,  and  to  his  country  true : 
Fill'd  with  the  sense  of  age,  the  fire  of  youth, 
A  scorn  of  wrangling,  yet  a  zeal  for  truth  : 


128         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

A  generous  faith,  from  superstition  free  ; 

A  love  to  peace,  and  hate  of  tyranny  : 

Such  this  man  was ;  who  now  from  earth  removed, 

At  length  enjoys  that  liberty  he  loved. 


ON  THE  HON.  SIMOtf  HARCOURT, 

Only  Son  of  the  Lord  CMncellor  Harcourt,  at  the 
Church  of  Stanton-Harcourt,  in  Oxfordshire,  1720 

To  this  sad  shrine,  whoe'er  thou  art,  draw  near ; 
Here  lies  the  friend  most  loved,  the  son  most  dear ; 
Who  ne'er  knewjoy  but  friendship  might  divide, 
Or  gave  his  father  grief  but  when  he  died. 

How  vain  is  ftason,  eloquence  how  weak ! 
If  Pope  rrust  tell  what  Harcourt  cannot  speak. 
Oh  let  thy  once-loved  friend  inscribe  thy  stone, 
And  with  a  father's  sorrows  mix  his  own  ! 


ON  JAMES  CRAGGS,  ESQ. 

In  Westminster  Abbey. 

JACOBUS  CRAQGS, 
REGI  MAGN^E  BRITANNIA  A  SECRETIS, 

ET  CONSILIIS  SANCTIORIBUS, 
PRINC1PIS  PARITER  AC  POPULI  AMOR  El 

DELICI^E 

VIXIT,  TITULIS  ET  INVIDIA  MAJOR, 

ANNOS,  HEU  PAUCOS.  XXXV. 

OB.  FEB.  XVI.  MDCCXX. 

STATESMAN,  yet  friend  to  truth  !  of  soul  sincere, 
In  action  faithful,  and  in  honour  clear ! 
Who  broke  no  promise,  served  no  private  end, 
Who  gain'd  no  title,  and  who  lost  no  friend  ; 
Ennobled  by  himself,  by  all  approved, 
Praised,  wept,  and  honour'd,  by  the  muse  he  loved 


EPITAPHS.  129 

INTENDED  FOR  MR.  ROWE, 

In  Westminster  Abbey. 

THY  reliques,  Rowe,  to  this  fair  urn  we  trust, 
And,  sacred,  place  by  Dryden's  awful  dust : 
Beneath  a  rude  and  nameless  stone  he  lies, 
To  which  thy  tomb  shall  guide  inquiring  eyes. 
Peace  to  thy  gentle  shade,  and  endless  rest ! 
Bless'd  in  thy  genius,  in  thy  love  too  bless'd  ! 
One  grateful  woman  to  thy  fame  supplies 
What  a  whole  thankless  land  to  his  denies. 


ON  MRS.  CORBET, 

Who  died  of  a  Cancer  in  her  Breast. 
HERE  rests  a  woman,  good  without  pretence, 
Bless'd  with  plain  reason,  and  with  sober  sense ; 
No  conquest  she,  but  o'er  herself,  desired, 
No  arts  essay'd,  but  not  to  be  admired. 
Passion  and  pride  were  to  her  soul  unknown, 
Convinced  that  virtue  only  is  our  own. 
So  unaffected,  so  composed  a  mind  ; 
So  firm,  yet  soft ;  so  strong,  yet  so  refined  ; 
Heaven,  as  its  purest  gold,  by  tortures  tried, 
The  saint  sustain'd  it,  but  the  woman  died. 


ON  THE  MONUMENT  OF  THE 
HONOURABLE  ROBERT*  DIGBY, 

AND  OF  HIS  SISTER  MARY, 
Erected  by  their  Father,  the  Lord  Digby,  in  the  Church 

of  Sherborne,  in  Dorsetshire,  1727. 
Go  !  fair  example  of  untainted  youth, 
Of  modest  wisdom,  and  pacific  truth ; 
Composed  in  sufferings,  and  in  joy  sedate, 
Good  without  noise,  without  pretension  great : 


130         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Just  of  thy  word,  in  every  thought  sincere, 

Who  knew  no  wish  but  what  the  world  might  hear : 

Of  soflest  manners,  unaffected  mind, 

Lover  of  peace,  and  friend  of  human-kind  • 

Go,  live  !  for  heaven's  eternal  year  is  thine, 

Go,  and  exalt  thy  moral  to  divine ! 

And  thou,  bless'd  maid !  attendant  on  his  doom, 
Pensive  hast  follow'd  to  the  silent  tomb, 
Steer'd  the  same  course  to  the  same  quiet  shore, 
Not  parted  long,  and  now  to  part  no  more  ! 
Go  then,  where  only  bliss  sincere  is  known! 
Go,  where  to  love  and  to  enjoy  are  one  ! 

Yet,  take  these  tears,  mortality's  relief, 
And  till  we  share  your  joys,  forgive  our  grief 
These  little  rites,  a  stone,  a  verse,  receive ; 
"Tis  all  a  father,  all  a  friend,  can  give  ! 


ON  SIR  GODFREY  KNELLER, 

In  Westminster  Abbey,  1723. 

KNELLER,  by  Heaven,  and  not  a  master,  taught, 
Whose  art  was  nature,  and  whose  pictures  thought ; 
Now  for  two  ages  having  snatch'd  from  fate 
Whate'er  was  beauteous,  or  whate'er  was  great, 
Lies  crown'd  with  princes'  honours,  poets'  lays, 
Due  to  his  merit,  and  brave  thirst  of  praise. 

Living,  great  nature  fear'd  he  might  outvie 
Her  works ;  and,  dying,  fears  herself  may  die. 


ON  GENERAL  HENRY  WITHERS, 

In  Westminster  Abbey,  1729. 
HERE,  Withers,  rest !  thou  bravest,  gentlest  mind, 
Thy  country's  friend,  but  more  of  human-kind. 
O  born  to  arms  !  0  worth  in  youth  approved  ! 
O  soft  humanity,  in  age  beloved  ! 


EPITAPHS. 

For  thee  the  hardy  veteran  drops  a  tear, 
And  the  gay  courtier  feels  the  sigh  sincere. 

Withers,  adieu  !  yet  not  with  thee  remove 
Thy  martial  spirit,  or  thy  social  love  ! 
Amidst  corruption,  luxury,  and  rage, 
Still  leave  some  ancient  virtues  to  our  age : 
Nor  let  us  say  (those  English  glories  gone) 
The  last  trap.  Briton  lies  beneath  this  stone. 


13] 


ON  MR.  ELIJAH  FENTON, 

At  Easlhamstead,  in  Berks,  1730. 
THIS  modest  stone,  what  few  vain  marbles  can, 
May  truly  say,  '  Here  lies  an  honest  man  :' 
A  poet,  bless'd  beyond  the  poet's  fate, 
Whom  Heaven  kept  sacred  from  the  proud  and  great 
Foe  to  loud  praise,  and  friend  to  learned  ease, 
Content  with  science  in  the  vale  of  peace, 
Calmly  he  look'd  on  either  life,  and  here 
Saw  nothing  to  regret,  or  there  to  fear ; 
From  nature's  temperate  feast  rose  satisfied, 
Thank'd  Heaven  that  he  had  lived,  and  that  he  died 


ON  MR.  GAY, 

In  Westminster  Abbey,  1730. 
OF  manners  gentle,  of  affections  mild; 
n  wit,  a  man ;  simplicity,  a  child  : 
With  native  humour  tempering  virtuous  rage, 
Form'd  to  delight  at  once  and  lash  the  age  : 
Above  temptation  in  a  low  estate, 
And  uncorrupted,  e'en  among  the  great : 
A  safe  companion,  and  an  easy  friend, 
Unblamed  through  life,  lamented  in  thy  end. 
These  are  thy  honours  !  not  that  here  thy  bust 
Is  mix'd  with  heroes,  or  with  kings  thy  dust ; 
But  that  the  worthy  and  the  good  shall  say, 
Striking  their  pensive  bosoms — '  Here  lies  Gay 


132          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ANOTHER. 

WELL  then !  poor  Gay  lies  under  ground, 
So  there 's  an  end  of  honest  Jack : 

So  little  justice  here  he  found, 
'Tis  ten  to  one  he'll  ne'er  come  back. 


INTENDED  FOR  SIR  ISAAC  NEWTON, 

In  Westminster  Abbey. 
ISAACUS  NEWTONUS: 

Quern  Immortalem 
Testantur  Tempus,  Natura,  Ccelum  : 

Mortalem 
Hoc  Marmor  Fatetur. 

NATURE  and  nature's  laws  lay  hid  in  night : 
God  said, '  Let  Newton  be !'  and  all  was  light 


ON  DR.  FRANCIS  ATTERBURY, 

WSHOP  OF  ROCHESTER, 
Who  died  in  Exile  in  Paris,  1732. 
'His  only  daughter  having  expired  in  his  arms,  immo 
diately  after  she  arrived  in  France  to  see  him.] 

DIALOGUE. 

She.  YES,  we  have  lived — one  pang,  and  then  we  part ; 
May  Heaven,  dear  father !  now  have  all  thy  heart. 
Yet,  ah  !  how  once  we  loved,  remember  still, 
Till  you  are  dust  like  me. 

He.  Dear  shade  !  I  will : 

Then  mix  this  dust  with  thine — O  spotless  ghost ! 
O  more  than  fortune,  friends,  or  country  lost ! 
Is  there  on  earth  one  care,  one  wish  beside  ? 
Yes — 'Save  my  country,  Heaven.' — He'said.and  died 


EPITAPHS.  133 

ON  EDMUND  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM, 

Who  died  in  the  19lh  year  of  his  age,  1735. 
IF  modest  youth  with  cool  reflection  crown'd, 
And  every  opening  virtue  blooming  round, 
Could  save  a  parent's  justest  pride  from  fate, 
Or  add  one  patriot  to  a  sinking  state  ; 
This  weeping  marble  had  not  ask'd  thy  tear, 
Or  sadly  told  how  many  hopes  lie  here  ! 
The  living  virtue  now  had  shone  approved, 
The  senate  heard  him,  and  his  country  loved. 
Yet  softer  honours,  and  less  noisy  fame 
Attend  the  shade  of  gentle  Buckingham: 
In  whom  a  race,  for  courage  famed  and  art, 
Ends  in  the  milder  merit  of  the  heart; 
And,  chiefs  or  sages  long  to  Britain  given, 
Pays  the  last  tribute  of  a  saint  to  Heaven. 


FOR  ONE  WHO  WOULD  NOT  BE  BURIED 
IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 

HEROES  and  kings  !  your  distance  keep  ; 
In  peace  let  one  poor  poet  sleep, 
Who  never  flatter'd  folks  like  you  : 
Let  Horace  blush,  and  Virgil  too. 


ANOTHER,  ON  THE  SAME. 

UNDER  this  marble  or  under  this  sill, 
Or  under  this  turf,  or  e'en  what  they  will ; 
Whatever  an  heir,  or  a  friend  in  his  stead, 
Or  any  good  creature  shall  lay  o'er  my  head  ; 
Lies  one  who  ne'er  cared,  and  still  cares  not  a  pin, 
What  they  said,  or  may  say,  of  the  mortal  within ; 
But  who,  living  and  dying,  serene  still  and  free, 
Trusts  in  God,  that  as  well  as  he  was,  he  shall  be 


134 


POPE'S  POE    ICAL  WORKS. 


LORD  CONINGSBY'S  EPITAPH, 
HERE  lies  Lord  Conmgsby — be  civil : 
The  rest  God  knows — so  does  the  devil. 


ON  BUTLER'S  MONUMENT. 

Perhaps  by  Mr  Pope.'2 
RESPECT  to  Dryden,  Sheffield  justly  paid, 
And  noble  Villers  honour'd  Cowley's  shade: 
But  whence  this  Barber  ? — that  a  name  so  mean 
Should,  join'd  with  Butler's,  on  a  tomb  be  seen  : 
This  pyramid  would  better  far  proclaim, 
To  future  ages  humbler  Settle's  name  : 
Poet  and  patron  then  had  been  well  pair'd, 
The  city  printer,  and  the  city  bard. 


1  This  Epitaph,  originally  written  on  Picus  Miranda- 
la,  is  applied  to  F.  Chartres,  and  printed  among  the 
works  of  Swift.    See  Ha  wkesworth's  edition,  vol.  vi. — S. 

2  Mr.  Pope,  in  one  of  the  prints  from'  Sclieemaker'a 
monument  of  Shakspeare  in  Westminster  Abbey,  has 
sufficiently  shown  his  contempt  of  Alderman  Barber,  by 
the  following  couplet,  which  is  substituted  in  the  place 
of  'The  cloud-capt  towers,'  &c. 

'Thus  Britain  loved  me;  and  preserved  my  fame, 
Clear  from  a  Barber's  or  a  Benson's  name.' — A.  POPE 
Pope  might  probably  have  suppressed  his  satire  on  the 
alderman,  because  he  was  one  of  Swift's  acquaintances 
and  correspondents ;  though  in  the  fourth  book  of  tho 
Dunciad  he  has  an  anonymous  stroke  at  him: 
'  So  by  each  bard  an  alderman  shall  sit, 
A  heavy  lord  shall  hang  at  every  wit.' 


'  135  ) 

THE  DTJ1VCIAD, 

IN  FOUR  BOOKS ; 

With  the  Prolegomena  of  Scriblerus,  Hie  Hypercritics 
of  Aristarchus,  and  Notes  Variorum. 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  PUBLISHER, 

Occasioned  by  the  first  correct  Edition  of  the 
Dunciad. 

IT  is  with  pleasure  I  hear  that  you  have  procured  a 
correct  copy  of  the  Dunciad,  which  the  many  sur 
reptitious  ones  have  rendered  so  necessary ;  and  it  is 
yet  with  more,  that  I  am  informed  it  will  be  attended 
with  a  Commentary :  a  work  so  requisite,  that  I  can 
not  think  the  author  himself  could  have  omitted  it, 
had  he  approved  of  the  first  appearance  of  this  poem. 

Such  notes  as  have  occurred  to  me  I  herewith  send 
you  :  you  will  oblige  me  by  inserting  them  amongst 
those  which  are,  or  will  be,  transmitted  to  you  by 
others ;  since  not  only  the  author's  friends,  but  even 
strangers,  appear  engaged  by  humanity,  to  take  some 
care  of  an  orphan  of  so  much  genius  and  spirit,  which 
its  parent  seems  to  have  abandoned  from  the  very 
beginning,  and  suffered  to  step  into  the  world  naked, 
unguarded,  and  unattended. 

It  was  upon  reading  some  of  the  abusive  papers 
lately  published,  that  my  great  regard  to  a  person, 
whose  friendship  I  esteem  as  one  of  the  chief  honours 
of  my  life,  and  a  much  greater  respect  to  truth  than 
to  him  or  any  man  living,  engaged  me  in  inquiries,  of 
which  the  inclosed  notes  are  the  fruit. 

I  perceive  that  most  of  these  authors  had  been 
(doubtless  very  wisely)  the  first  aggressors.  They 
had  tried,  till  they  were  weary,  what  was  to  be  got 
by  railing  at  each  other:  nobody  was  either  con- 


136 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


cerned  or  surprised,  if  this  or  that  scribbler  was 
proved  a  dunce.  But  every  one  was  curious  to  read 
what  could  be  said  to  prove  Mr.  Pope  one,  and  was 
ready  to  pay  something  for  such  a  discovery :  a 
stratagem  which,  would  they  fairly  own  it,  might  not 
only  reconcile  them  to  me,  but  screen  them  from  the 
resentment  of  their  lawful  superiors,  whom  they 
daily  abuse,  only  fas  I  charitably  hope)  to  get  that  by 
them,  which  they  cannot  get  from  them. 

I  found  this  was  not  all  •  ill  success  in  that  had 
transported  them  to  personal  abuse,  either  of  himself 
or  (what  I  think  he  could  less  forgive)  of  his  friends. 
They  had  called  men  of  virtue  and  honour  bad  men, 
long  before  he  had  either  leisure  or  inclination  to  call 
them  bad  writers  ;  and  some  had  been  such  old  of 
fenders,  that  he  had  quite  forgotten  their  persons  as 
well  as  their  slanders,  till  they  were  pleased  to  re 
vive  them. 

Now  what  had  Mr.  Pope  done  before,  to  incense 
them  ?  He  had  published  those  works  which  are  in 
the  hands  of  every  body,  in  which  not  the  least  men 
tion  is  made  of  any  of  them.  And  what  has  he  done 
since  ?  He  has  laughed,  and  written  the  Dunciad. 
What  has  that  said  of  them?  A  very  serious  truth, 
which  the  public  had  said  before,  that  they  were  dull ; 
and  what  it  had  no  sooner  said,  but  they  themselves 
were  at  great  pains  to  procure,  or  even  purchase, 
room  in  the  prints,  to  testify  under  their  hands  the 
truth  of  it. 

I  should  still  have  been  silent,  if  either  I  had  seen 
any  inclination  in  my  friend  to  be  serious  with  such 
accusers,  or  if  they  had  only  meddled  with  his 
writings ;  since  whoever  publishes,  puts  himself  on 
his  trial  by  his  country  : — but  when  his  moral  char 
acter  was  attacked,  and  in  a  manner  from  which 
neither  truth  nor  virtue  can  secure  the  most  innocent ; 
in  a  manner,  which,  though  it  annihilates  the  credit 
of  the  accusation  with  the  just  and  impartial,  yet  ag 


THE  DUNCIAD.  137 

gravates  very  much  the  guilt  of  the  accusers :  I  mean 
by  authors  without  names  :  then  I  thought,  since  the 
danger  was  common  to  all,  the  concern  ought  to  be 
so  ;  and  that  it  was  an  act  of  justice  to  detect  the  au 
thors,  not  only  on  this  account,  but  as  many  of  them 
are  the  same  who  for  several  years  past  have  made 
free  with  the  greatest  names  in  church  and  state,  ex 
posed  to  the  world  the  private  misfortunes  of  fami 
lies,  abused  all,  even  to  women,  and  whose  prostitu 
ted  papers  (for  one  or  other  party,  in  the  unhappy 
division  of  their  country)  have  insulted  the  fallen, 
the  friendless,  the  exiled,  and  the  dead. 

Besides  this,  which  I  take  to  be  a  public  concern,  1 
have  already  confessed  I  had  a  private  one.  I  am 
one  of  that  number  who  have  long  loved  and  es 
teemed  Mr.  Pope  ;  and  had  often  declared  it  was 
not  his  capacity  or  writings  (which  we  ever  thought 
the  least  valuable  part  of  his  character,)  but  the  hon 
est,  open,  and  beneficent  man,  that  we  most  esteem 
ed  and  loved  in  him.  Now,  if  what  these  people 
say  were  believed,  I  must  appear  to  all  my  friends 
either  a  fool  or  a  knave;  either  imposed  on  myself, 
or  imposing  on  them  :  so  that  I  am  as  much  interested 
in  the  confutation  of  these  calumnies  as  he  is  himself. 

I  am  no  author,  and  consequently  not  to  be  sus 
pected  either  of  jealousy  or  resentment  against  any 
of  the  men,  of  whom  scarce  one  is  known  to  me  by 
eight ;  and  as  for  their  writings,  I  have  sought  them 
(on  this  one  occasion)  in  vain,  in  the  closets  and  libra 
ries  of  all  my  acquaintance.  1  had  still  been  in  the 
dark,  if  a  gentleman  had  not  procured  me  (I  suppose 
from  some  of  themselves,  for  they  are  generally  much 
more  dangerous  friends  than  enemies)  the  passages  1 
send  you.  I  solemnly  protest  I  have  added  nothing 
to  the  malice  or  absurdity  of  them  ;  which  it  behoves 
me  to  declare,  since  the  vouchers  themselves  will  be 
so  eoon  and  irrecoverably  lost.  You  may  in  some 
measure  prevent  it,  by  preserving  at  least  their  titles, 

VOL.  II.  10 


138        POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

and  discovering  (as  far  as  you  can  depend  on  the 
truth  of  your  information)  the  names  of  the  conceal 
ed  authors. 

The  first  objection  I  have  heard  made  to  tho 
poem  is,  that  the  persons  are  too  obscure  for  satire. 
The  persons  themselves,  rather  than  allow  the  objec 
tion,  would  forgive  the  satire  ;  and  if  one  could  be 
tempted  to  afford  it  a  serious  answer,  were  not  all  as 
sassinates,  popular  insurrections,  the  insolence  of  the 
rabble  without  doors,  and  of  domestics  within,  most 
wrongfully  chastised,  if  the  meanness  of  offenders  in 
demnified  them  from  punishment  ?  On  the  contrary, 
obscurity  renders  them  more  dangerous,  as  less 
thought  of:  law  can  pronounce  judgment  only  on 
open  facts  :  morality  alone  can  pass  censure  on  in 
tentions  of  mischief;  so  that  for  secret  calumny,  or 
the  arrow  flying  in  the  dark,  there  is  no  public  punish 
ment  left,  but  what  a  good  writer  inflicts. 

The  next  objection  is,  that  these  sort  of  authors 
are  poor.  That  might  be  pleaded  as  an  excuse  at  the 
Old  Bailey,  for  lesser  crimes  than  dt-farnation,  (for  it 
is  the  case  of  almost  all  who  are  tried  there,)  but 
sure  it  can  be  none  here  ;  for  who  will  pretend  that 
the  robbing  another  of  his  reputation,  supplies  the 
want  of  it  in  himself?  I  question  not  but  such  authors 
are  poor,  and  heartily  wish  the  objection  were  re 
moved  by  any  honest  livelihood.  But  poverty  is 
here  the  accident,  not  the  subject :  he  who  describes 
malice  and  villany  to  be  pale  and  meagre,  expresses 
not  the  least  anger  against  paleness  or  leanness,  but 
against  malice  and  villany.  The  Apothecary  in  Ro 
meo  and  Juliet  is  poor ;  but  is  he  therefore  justified 
in  vending  poison  ?  Not  but  poverty  itself  becomes  a 
just  subject  of  satire,  when  it  is  the  consequence  of 
vice,  prodigality,  or  neglect  of  one's  lawful  callings  ; 
for  then  it  increases  the  public  burthen,  fills  the  streets 
and  highways  with  robbers,  and  the  garrets  with  clip 
pers,  coiners,  and  weekly  journalists. 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


139 


But  admitting  that  two  or  three  of  these  offend 
tess  in  their  morals  than  in  their  writings  :  must  po- 
rerty  make  nonsense  sacred  ?  If  so,  the  fame  of  bad 
authors  would  be  much  better  consulted  than  that  of 
all  the  good  ones  in  the  world  ;  and  not  one  of  a  hun 
dred  had  ever  been  called  by  his  right  name. 

They  mistake  the  whole  matter :  it  is  not  charity 
to  encourage  them  in  the  way  they  follow,  but  to  get 
them  out  of  it;  for  men  are  not  bunglers  because 
they  are  poor,  but  they  are  poor  because  they  are 
bunglers. 

Is  it  not  pleasant  enough  to  hear  our  authors  cry 
ing  out  on  the  one  hand,  as  if  their  persons  and  cha 
racters  were  too  sacred  for  satire ;  and  the  public 
objecting  on  the  other,  that  they  are  too  mean  even 
for  ridicule?  But  whether  bread  or  fame  be  their 
end,  it  must  be  allowed,  our  author,  by  and  in  this 
poem,  has  mercifully  given  them  a  little  of  both. 

There  are  two  or  three,  who  by  their  rank  and  for 
tune  have  no  benefit  from  the  former  objections,  sup 
posing  them  good ;  and  these  I  was  sorry  to  see  in 
such  company.  But  if,  without  any  provocation,  two 
or  three  gentlemen  will  fall  upon  one,  in  an  affair 
wherein  his  interest  and  reputation  are  equally  em 
barked  ;  they  cannot  certainly,  after  they  have  been 
content  to  print  themselves  his  enemies,  complain  of 
being  put  into  the  number  of  them. 

Others,  I  am  told,  pretend  to  have  been  once  his 
friends.  Surely,  they  are  their  enemies  who  say  so ; 
since  nothing  can  be  more  odious  than  to  treat  a 
friend  as  they  have  done.  But  of  this  I  cannot  per 
suade  myself,  when  I  consider  the  constant  and  eter 
nal  aversion  of  all  bad  writers  to  a  good  one. 

Such  as  claim  merit  from  being  his  admirers,  I 
would  gladly  ask  if  it  lays  him  under  a  personal  obli 
gation  ?  At  that  rate  he  would  be  the  most  obliged 
humble  servant  in  the  world.  I  dare  swear  for  these 
in  particular,  he  never  desired  them  to  be  his  ad- 


,40 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


mirers,  nor  promised  in  return  to  be  theirs  :  that  had 
truly  been  a  sign  he  was  of  their  acquaintance  :  but 
would  not  the  malicious  world  have  suspected  such 
an  approbation  of  some  motive  worse  than  ignorance 
in  the  author  of  the  Essay  on  Criticism  ?  Be  it  as  it 
will,  the  reasons  of  their  admiration  and  of  his  con 
tempt  are  equally  subsisting;  for  his  works  and  theirs 
are  the  very  same  that  they  were. 

One,  therefore,  of  their  assertions  I  believe  may  be 
true,  'That  he  has  a  contempt  for  their  writings.' 
And  there  is  another  which  would  probably  be  sooner 
.illowed  by  himself  than  by  any  good  judge  beside, 
'  That  his  own  have  found  too  much  success  with  the 
public.'  But  as  it  cannot  consist  with  his  modesty  to 
claim  this  as  a  justice,  it  lies  not  on  him,  but  entirely 
on  the  public,  to  defend  its  own  judgment. 

There  remains  what,  in  my  opinion,  might  seem  a 
better  plea  for  these  people,  than  any  they  have  made 
use  of.  If  obs«urity  or  poverty  were  to  exempt  a 
man  from  satire,  much  more  should  folly  or  dulness, 
which  are  still  more  involuntary  ;  nay,  as  much  so  as 
personal  deformity.  But  even  this  will  not  help 
them:  deformity  becomes  an  object  of  ridicule  when 
a  man  sets  up  for  being  handsome ;  arid  so  must  dul- 
ness,  when  he  sets  up  for  a  wit.  They  are  not  ridi 
culed,  because  ridicule  in  itself  is,  or  ought  to  be,  a 
pleasure  ;  but  because  it  is  just  to  undeceive  and  vin 
dicate  the  honest  and  unpretending  part  of  mankind 
from  imposition,  because  particular  interest  ought  to 
yield  to  general,  and  a  great  number  who  are  not 
naturally  fools,  ought  never  to  be  made  so,  in  com 
plaisance  to  a  few  who  are.  Accordingly  we  find, 
that,  in  all  ages,  all  vain  pretenders,  were  they  ever 
so  poor,  or  ever  so  dull,  have  been  constantly  the 
topics  of  the  most  candid  satirists,  from  the  Codrus 
of  Juvenal  to  the  Damon  of  Boileau. 

Having  mentioned  Boileau,  the  greatest  poet  and 
most  judicious  critic  of  his  age  and  country,  admira- 


THE  DUNCIAD.  141 

Me  for  his  talents,  and  yet  perhaps  more  admiiible 
for  his  judgment  in  the  proper  application  of  them,  I 
cannot  help  remarking  the  resemblance  betwixt  him 
and  our  author,  in  qualities,  fame,  and  fortune  :  in  the 
distinction  shown  them  by  their  superiors,  in  the  ge 
neral  esteem  of  their  equals,  and  in  their  extended 
reputation  amongst  foreigners  ;  in  the  latter  of  which 
ours  has  met  with  a  better  fate,  as  he  has  had  for  nis 
translators  persons  of  the  most  eminent  rank  and 
abilities  in  their  respective  nations.1  But  the  re 
semblance  holds  in  nothing  more,  than  in  their  being 
equally  abused  by  the  ignorant  pretenders  to  poetry 
of  their  times,  of  which  not  the  least  memory  will 
remain  but  in  their  own  writings,  and  in  the  notes 
made  upon  them.  What  Boileau  has  done  in  almost 
all  his  poems,  our  author  has  only  in  this  :  I  dare  an 
swer  for  him  he  will  do  it  no  more ;  and  on  this  prin 
ciple,  of  attacking  few  but  who  had  slandered  him,  he 
could  not  have  done  it  at  all,  had  he  been  confined 
from  censuring  obscure  and  worthless  persons,  for 
scarce  any  other  were  his  enemies.  However,  as  the 
parity  is  so  remarkable,  I  hope  it  will  continue  to  the 
last ;  and  if  ever  he  should  give  us  an  edition  of  this 
poem  himself,  I  may  see  some  of  them  treated  as 
gently,  on  their  repentance  or  better  merit,  as  Per- 
rault  and  Quinault  were  at  last  by  Boileau. 

In  one  point  I  must  be  allowed  to  think  the  charac- 


1  Essay  on  Criticism,  in  French  verse,  by  General 
Hamilton;  the  same,  in  verse  also,  by  Monsieur  Robo- 
ton,  counsellor  and  privy  secretary  to  King  George  I. 
after  by  the  abbe  Rcynel,  in  verse,  with  notes.  Rajic  of 
the  Lock,  in  French,  by  thn  princess  of  Conti,  Paris, 
1708;  and  in  Italian  verse  by  the  abbe  Conti,  a  noble 
Venetian  ;  and  by  the  marquis  Rangoni,  envoy  extra 
ordinary  from  Modena  to  King  George  II.  Others  of  his 
works  by  Salvini  of  Florence,  &c.  IJis  Essay  and  pis- 
pertations  on  Homer,  several  times  translated  into 
French.  Essay  on  Man,  by  the  abbe  Reynel,  in  verse ; 
by  Monsieur  Silhoute,  in  prose.  17:<7,  and  since  by  othert 
in  French,  Ita.ian  and  Latin. 


142  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

*er  of  our  English  pool  the  more  amiable.  He  has 
not  been  a  follower  of  fortune  or  success ;  he  has 
lived  with  the  great  without  flattery;  been  a  friend  to 
men  in  power  without  pensions,  from  whom,  as  he 
asked,  so  he  received,  no  favour,  but  what  was  done 
him  in  his  friends.  As  his  satires  were  the  more  just 
for  being  delayed,  so  were  his  panegyrics ;  bestow 
ed  only  on  such  persons  as  he  had  familiarly  known, 
only  for  such  virtues  as  he  had  long  observed  in  them, 
and  only  at  such  times  as  others  cease  to  praise,  if 
not  begin  to  calumniate  them;  I  mean  when  out  of 
power  or  out  of  fashion.1  A  satire,  therefore,  on 
writers  so  notorious  for  the  contrary  practice,  became 
no  man  so  well  as  himself;  as  none,  it  is  plain,  was 
so  little  in  their  friendships,  or  so  much  in  that  of 
those  whom  they  had  most  abused,  namely,  the  great 
est  and  best  of  all  parties.  Let  me  add  a  further  rea 
son,  that,  though  engaged  in  their  friendships,  he 
never  espoused  their  animosities;  and  can  almost 
singly  challenge  this  honour,  not  to  have  written  a 
line  of  any  man,  which,  through  guilt,  through  shame, 
or  through  fear,  through  variety  of  fortune,  or  change 
of  interests,  he  was  ever  unwilling  to  own. 

I  shall  conclude  with  remarking,  what  a  pleasure 
it  must  be  to  every  reader  of  humanity,  to  see  al. 
along,  that  our  author,  in  his  very  laughter,  is  not  in 
dulging  his  own  ill-nature,  but  only  punishing  that  of 
others.  As  to  his  poem,  those  alone  are  capable  of 
doing  it  justice,  who,  to  use  the  words  of  a  great 
writer,  know  how  hard  it  is  (with  regard  both  to  hia 


1  As  Mr.  Wycherley,  at  the  time  the  town  declaimed 
against  his  book  of  poems  ;  Mr.  Walsh,  after  his  death, 
sir  William  Trumball,  when  ho  had  resinned  the  office 
of  secretary  of  state;  lord  Bolinjrhroke,  at  his  leaving 
England,  after  the  queen's  death ;  lord  Oxford,  in  his  last 
decline  of  life ;  Mr.  Secretary  Craggs,  at  the  end  of  the 
South-sea  year,  and  after  his  death :  others  only  in  epi 
taphs 


THE  DUNCIAD.  143 


subject  and  his  manner)  vetustis  dare  novitatem,  db- 


foletis  nitorem,  obscuris  lucemfastiditis  graliam. 
I  am  your  most  humble  servant, 

WILLIAM  CLELAND.2 
St.  James's,  Dec.  22d,  1728. 


MARTINUS  SCRIBLERUS 

HIS  PROLEGOMENA  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO  THE  DUNCIAD : 
With  the  Hypercritics  of  Aristarchus. 

Dennis's  Remarks  on  Prince  Arthur. 

1  CANNOT  but  think  it  the  most  reasonable  thing  in 
the  world,  to  distinguish  good  writers,  by  discouraging 
the  bad.     Nor  is  it  an  ill-natured  thing,  in  relation 
even  to  the  very  persons  upon  whom  the  reflections 
are  made.     It  is  true,  it  may  deprive  them  a  little  the 
sooner  of  a  short  profit  and  a  transitory  reputation; 
but  then  it  may  have  a  good  effect,  and  oblige  them 
(before  it  be  too  late)  to  decline  that  for  which  they 
are  so  very  unfit,  and  to  have  recourse  to  something 
in  which  they  may  be  more  successful. 

Character  of  Mr.  P.  1716. 

The  persons  whom  Boileau  has  attacked  in  his 
writings  have  been  for  the  most  part  authors,  and  most 

2  This  gentleman  was  of  Scotland,  and  bred  at  the  uni 
versity  of  Utrecht,  with  the  earl  of  Mar.    He  served  in 
Spain  under  earl  Rivers.    After  the  peace,  he  was  made 
one  of  the  commissioners  of  the  customs  in  Scotland, 
and  then  of  taxes  in  England;  in  which,  having  shown 
himself  for  twenty  years  diligent,  punctual,  and  incor 
ruptible  (though  without  any  other  assistance  of  for 
tune,)  he  was  suddenly  displaced  by  the  minister,  in  the 
sixty-eighth  year  of  his  age,  and  died  two  months  after, 
in  1741.    He  was  a  person  of  universal  learning,  and  an 
enlarged  conversation  ;  no  man  hail  a  wanner  hear 
for  his  friend,  or  a  sincerer  attaching  Uo  the  constitu 
tion  of  his  country. 


144          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

of  those  authors,  poets :   and  the  censures  he  hath 

passed  upon  them  have  been  confirmed  by  all  Europe, 

GUdon,  Preface  to  his  New  Rehearsal. 

It  is  the  common  cry  of  the  poetasters  of  the  town, 
and  their  fautors,  that  it  is  an  ill-natured  thing  to  ex 
pose  the  pretenders  to  wit  and  poetry.  The  judges 
and  magistrates  may  with  full  as  good  reason  be  re 
proached  with  ill-nature  for  putting  the  laws  in  exe 
cution  against  a  thief  or  impostor. — The  same  will 
hold  in  the  republic  of  letters,  if  the  critics  and  judges 
will  let  every  ignorant  pretender  to  scribbling  pass  on 
the  world. 

Theobald,  Letter  to  Mist,  June  22,  1728. 

Attacks  may  be  levelled,  either  against  failures  in 
genius,  or  against  the  pretensions  of  writing  without 
one. 
Concanen,  Dedication  to  the  Author  of  the  Dunciad. 

A  satire  upon  dulness  is  a  thing  that  has  been  used 
and  allowed  in  all  ages. 

Out  of  thine  own  mouth  will  I  judge  thee,  wicked 
scribbler ! 


TESTIMONIES  OF  AUTHORS 

Concerning  our  Poet  and  his  Works. 

M.  Scriblerus  Lectori  S. 

BEFORE  we  present  thee  with  our  exercitations  on 
this  most  delectable  poem  (drawn  from  the  many 
volumes  of  our  adversaria  on  modern  authors)  we 
shall  here,  according  to  the  laudable  usage  of  editors, 
collect  the  various  judgments  of  the  learned  concern 
ing  our  poet ;  various  indeed,  not  only  of  different 
authors,  but  of  the  same  author  at  different  seasons. 
Nor  shall  we  gather  only  the  testimonies  of  such  emi 
nent  wits  as  would  of  course  descend  to  posterity. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  145 

and  consequently  be  read  without  our  collection  ;  but 
we  shall  likewise,  with  incredible  labour,  seek  out 
for  divers  others,  which,  but  for  this  our  diligence, 
could  never  at  the  distance  of  a  few  months  appear 
to  the  eye  of  the  most  curious.  Hereby  thou  mayest 
not  only  receive  the  delectation  of  variety,  but  also 
arrive  at  a  more  certain  judgment  by  a  grave  and 
circumspect  comparison  of  the  witnesses  with  each 
other,  or  of  each  with  himself.  Hence  also  thou  wilt 
be  enabled  to  draw  reflections,  not  only  of  a  critical, 
but  a  moral  nature,  by  being  let  into  many  particulars 
of  the  person  as  well  as  genius,  and  of  fortune  as  well 
as  merit  of  our  author :  in  which,  if  I  relate  some 
things  of  little  concern  peradventure  to  thee,  and  some 
of  as  little  even  to  him,  I  entreat  thee  to  consider 
how  minutely  all  true  critics  and  commentators  are 
wont  to  insist  upon  such,  and  how  material  they  seem 
to  themselves,  if  to  none  other.  Forgive  me,  gentle 
reader,  if  (following  learned  example)  I  ever  and  anon 
become  tedious  :  allow  me  to  take  the  same  pains  to 
find  whether  my  author  were  good  or  bad,  well  or  ill- 
natured,  modest  or  arrogant;  as  another,  whether  his 
author  was  fair  or  brown,  short  or  tall,  or  whether  he 
wore  a  coat  or  a  cassock. 

We  proposed  to  begin  with  his  life,  parentage,  and 
education  :  but  as  to  these,  even  his  contemporaries 
do  exceedingly  differ.  One  saith,1  he  was  educated 
at  home ;  another,2  that  he  was  bred  at  St.  Omer's  by 
Jesuits ;  a  third,3  not  at  St.  Omer's,  but  at  Oxford  !  a 
fourth,4  that  he  had  no  university  education  at  all. 
Those  who  allow  him  to  be  bred  at  home,  differ  as 
much  concerning  his  tutor.  One  saith,5  he  was  kept 
by  his  father  on  purpose  ;  a  second,6  that  he  was  an 


1  Giles  Jacob's  Lives  of  the  Poets,  vol.  ii.  in  his  Life. 

2  Dennis's  Reflections  on  the  Essay  on  Criticism. 

3  Dunciad  Dissected,  p.  4.  4  Guardian,  No.  40 
5  Jacob's  Lives,  &c.  vol.  ii.      6  Dunciad  Dissected,  p.  4. 


146         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

itinerant  priest ;  a  third,7  that  he  was  a  parson  ;  one* 
calleth  him  a  secular  clergyman  of  the  church  of 
Rome  ;  another,9  a  monk.  As  little  do  they  agree 
about  his  father,  whom  one10  supposeth,  like  the  father 
of  Hesiod,  a  tradesman  or  merchant ;  another,"  a 
husbandman  ;  another,12  a  hatter,  &c.  Nor  has  an 
author  been  wanting  to  give  our  poet  such  a  father  at 
Apuleius  hath  to  Plato,  Jamblichus  to  Pythagoras, 
and  divers  to  Homer,  viz.  a  demon :  for  thus  Mr 
Gildon :— '3 

'  Certain  it  is,  that  his  original  is  not  from  Adam, 
but  the  devil;  and  that  he  wanteth  nothing  but  horns 
and  tail  to  be  the  exact  resemblance  of  his  infernal 
father.'  Finding,  therefore,  such  contrariety  of  opin 
ions,  and  (whatever  be  ours  of  this  sort  of  generation) 
not  being  fond  to  enter  into  controversy,  we  shall 
defer  writing  the  life  of  our  poet,  till  authors  can  de 
termine  among  themselves  what  parents  or  education 
he  had,  or  whether  he  had  any  education  or  parents 
at  all. 

Proceed  we  to  what  is  more  certain,  his  Works, 
though  not  less  uncertain  the  judgments  concerning 
them ;  beginning  with   his   Essay  on  Criticism,   of 
which  hear  first  the  most  ancient  of  critics, 
Mr.  John  Dennis. 

'  His  precepts  are  false  or  trivial,  or  both ;  hi* 
.houghts  are  crude  and  abortive,  his  expressions  ab- 

7  Farmer  P.  and  his  son.  8  Dunciad  Dissected 

9  Characters  of  the  Times,  p.  45. 

10  Female  Dunciad,  p.  ult.  11  Dunciad  Dissected. 

12  Roome,  Paraphrase  on  the  4th  of  Genesis,  printed 
1729. 

13  Character  of  >fr.  P.  and  his  Writings,  in  a  Letter 
to  a  Friend,  printed  for  S.  Popping,  1710,  p.  10.     Curll, 
in  his  Key  to  the  Dunciad,  (tirst  edition,  said   to  be 
printed  for  A.  Dodd,)  in  the  10th  page,  declared  Gildon 
to  he  the  author  of  that  libel ;  though  in  the  subsequent 
editions  of  his  Key  he  left  out  this  assertion,  and  affirm 
ed  (in  the  Curliad,  p.  4  and  8)  that  it  was  written  by 
Dennis  only. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  147 

rd,  his  numbers  harsh  and  unmusical,  his  rhymes 
nvial  and  common ; — instead  of  majesty,  we  have 
something  that  is  very  mean;  instead  of  gravity, 
something  that  is  very  boyish;  and  instead  of  perspi 
cuity  and  lucid  order,  we  have  but  too  often  obscurity 
and  confusion.'  And  in  another  place — '  What  rare 
numbers  are  here  !  Would  not  one  swear  that  this 
youngster  had  espoused  some  antiquated  muse,  who 
had  sued  out  a  divorce  from  some  superannuated  sin 
ner,  upon  account  of  impotence,  and  who,  being 
poxed  by  the  former  spouse,  has  got  the  gout  in  her 
decrepid  age,  which  makes  her  hobble  so  dam 
nably.'1 

No  less  peremptory  is  the  censure  of  our  hyper 
critical  historian 

Mr.  Oldrmxon. 

'  I  dare  not  say  any  thing  on  the  Essay  on  Criticism 
in  verse  ;  but  if  any  more  curious  reader  has  discover 
ed  in  it  something  new  which  is  not  in  Dryden's  pre 
faces,  dedications,  and  his  essay  on  dramatic  poetry 
not  to  mention  the  French  critics,  I  should  be  very 
glad  to  have  the  benefit  of  the  discovery.'2 

He  is  followed  (as  in  fame,  so  in  judgment)  by  the 
modest  and  simple-minded 

Mr.  Leonard  Welsted ; 

who,  out  of  great  respect  to  our  poet,  not  naming 
him,  doth  yet  glance  at  his  Essay,  together  with  the 
duke  of  Buckingham's,  and  the  criticisms  of  Dryden 
and  of  Horace,  which  he  more  openly  taxeth  :3  '  As 
to  the  numerous  treatises,  essays,  arts,  &c.,  both  in 
verse  and  prose,  that  have  been  written  by  the  mo 
derns  on  this  ground-work,  they  do  but  hackney  the 

1  Reflections  critical  and  satirical  on  a  rhapsody,  call 
ed,  an  Essay  on  Criticism,  printed  for  Bernard  l.intot.bvo. 

2  Essay  on  Criticism  in  prose,  octavo,  17:23,  by  the 
author  of  the  Critical  History  of  England. 

3  Preface  to  his  Poems,  p.  18,  53. 


148         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Ba.me  thoughts  over  again,  making  them  still  more 
trite.  Most  of  their  pieces  are  nothing  but  a  pert,  in 
sipid  heap  of  common-place.  Horace  has,  even  in 
his  Art  of  Poetry,  thrown  out  several  things  which 
plainly  show,  he  thought  an  art  of  poetry  was  of  no 
use,  even  while  he  was  writing  one." 

To  all  which  great  authorities,  we  can  only  oppose 
that  of 

Mr.  Addison. 

'  The  Essay  on  Criticism,'  saith  he,  '  which  was 
published  some  months  since,  is  a  master-piece  in  its 
kind.  The  observations  follow  one  another  like  those 
in  Horace's  Art  of  Poetry,  without  that  methodical 
regularity  which  would  have  been  requisite  in  a  prose 
writer.  They  are  some  of  them  uncommon,  but  such 
as  the  reader  must  assent  to,  when  he  sees  them  ex 
plained  with  that  ease  and  perspicuity  in  which  they 
are  delivered.  As  for  those  which  are  the  most 
known  and  the  most  received,  they  are  placed  in  so 
beautiful  a  light,  and  illustrated  with  such  apt  allu 
sions,  that  they  have  in  them  all  the  graces  of  novel 
ty  ;  and  make  the  reader,  who  was  before  acquainted 
with  them,  still  more  convinced  of  their  truth  and 
solidity.  And  here  give  me  leave  to  mention  what 
Monsieur  Boileau  has  so  well  enlarged  upon  in  the 
preface  to  his  works  :  that  wit  and  fine  writing  doth 
not  consist  so  murh  in  advancing  things  that  are  new,, 
as  in  giving  things  that  are  known  an  agreeable  turn. 
It  is  impossible  for  us,  who  live  in  the  latter  ages  of 
the  world,  to  make  observations  in  criticism,  morality, 
or  any  art  or  science,  which  have  not  been  touched 
upon  by  others;  we  have  little  else  left  us,  but  to  re 
present  the  common  sense  of  mankind  in  more 
strong,  more  beautiful,  or  more  uncommon  lights.  If 
a  reader  examines  Horace's  Art  of  Poetry,  he  will 
find  but  few  precepts  in  it  which  he  may  not  meet 
with  in  Aristotle,  and  which  were  not  commonly 
known  by  all  the  poets  of  the  Augustan  age.  His 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


149 


way  of  expressing,  and  applying  them,  not  his  inven 
tion  of  them,  is  what  we  are  chiefly  to  admire. 

'  Longinus,  in  his  Reflections,  has  given  us  the  same 
kind  of  sublime,  which  he  observes  in  .he  severa 
passages  that  occasioned  them :  I  cannot  but  take 
notice  that  our  English  author  has,  after  the  same 
manner,  exemplified  several  of  the  precepts  in  the 
very  precepts  themselves.'1  He  'Jien  produces  some 
instances  of  a  particular  beauty  in  the  r.umbers,  and 
concludes  with  saying,  that  'there  are  three  poems  in 
our  tongue  of  the  same  nature,  and  each  a  master 
piece  in  its  kind  !  the  Essay  on  Translated  Verse ;  the 
Essay  on  the  Art  of  Poetry  ;  and  the  Essay  on  Criti 
cism.' 

Of  Windsor  Forest,  positive  is  the  judgment  of  the 
affirmative 

Mr.  John  Dennis, 

That  it  is  a  wretched  rhapsody,  impudently  writ  in 
emulation  t>f  the  Cooper's  Hill  of  sir  John  Denham  : 
the  author  of  it  is  obscure,  is  ambiguous,  is  affected, 
is  temerarious,  is  barbarous  !2 

But  the  author  of  the  Dispensary,3 

Dr.  Garth, 

in  the  preface  to  his  poem  of  Ciaremont,  differs  from 
this  opinion :  '  Those  who  have  seen  these  two  ex 
cellent  poems  of  Cooper's  Hill,  and  Windsor  Forest, 
the  one  written  by  sir  John  Denham,  the  other  by 
Mr.  Pope,  will  show  a  fjreat  deal  of  candour  if  they 
approve  of  this.' 

Of  the  Epistle  of  Elo'i'sa,  we  are  told  by  the  obscure 
writer  of  a  poem  called  Sawney,  '  That  because 
Prior's  Henry  and  Emma  charmed  the  finest  tastes, 
our  author  writ  his  Elo'i'sa  in  opposition  to  it ;  but  foi- 
got  innocence  and  virtue.  If  you  take  away  her  tcn- 

1  Spectator,  No.  253. 

2  Letter  to  B.  B.  at  the  end  of  the  Remarks  on  Pop<;'« 
Homer,  1717.      3  Printed  1728,  p.  12. 


150         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

der  thoughts,  and  her  fierce  desires,  all  the  rest  is  of 
no  value.'  In  which,  methinks,  his  judgment  resem 
bleth  that  of  a  French  tailor  on  a  villa  and  garden  by 
the  Thames  :  '  All  this  is  very  fine ;  but  take  away  th* 
river,  and  it  is  good  for  nothing.' 

But  very  contrary  hereunto  was  the  opinion  of 

Mr.  Prior, 
himself,  saying  in  his  Alma.1 

'  O  Abelard  !  ill-fated  youth, 
Thy  tale  will  justify  this  truth  : 
But  well  I  weet,  thy  cruel  wrong 
Adorns  a  nobler  poet's  song  : 
Dan  Pope,  for  thy  misfortune  grieved, 
With  kind  concern  and  skill  has  weaved 
A  silken  web;  and  ne'er  shall  fade 
Its  colours  ;  gently  has  he  laid 
The  mantle  o'er  thy  sad  distress, 
And  Venus  shall  the  texture  bless/  &c. 
Come  we  now  to  his  translation  of  the  Iliad,  cole 
brated  by  numerous  pens ;  yet  shall  it  suffice  to  men 
tion  the  indefatigable 

Sir  Richard  Blackmore,  Knt. 

who  (though  otherwise  a  severe  censurer  of  our  au 
thor)  yet  styleth  this  a  '  laudable  translation.'  That3 
ready  writer 

Mr.  Oldmixon, 

in  his  forementioned  Essay,  frequently  commends  the 
same.  And  the  painful 

Mr.  Lewis  Theobald 

thus  extols  it,3  'The  spirit  of  Homer  breathes  all 
through  this  translation. — I  am  in  doubt,  whether  I 
should  most  admire  the  justness  to  the  original,  or 
the  force  and  beauty  of  the  language,  or  the  sounding 

1  Alma,  Cant.  2.        2  In  his  Essays,  vol.  i.    printec 
for  K.  Ciirll.        3  Censor,  vol.  ii.  n.  33. 


THE  DUNCIAD  151 

variety  of  the  numbers :  but  when  I  find  all  these 
meet,  it  puts  me  in  mind  of  what  the  poet  says  of 
one  of  his  heroes,  'That  he  alone  raised  and  flung 
with  ease  a  weighty  stone,  that  two  common  men 
could  not  lift  from  the  ground  ;  just  so,  one  single 
person  has  performed  in  this  translation,  what  I  once 
despaired  to  have  seen  done  by  the  force  of  several 
masterly  hands.'  Indeed  the  same  gentleman  appears 
to  have  changed  his  sentiment  in  his  Essay  on  the  Art 
of  Sinking  in  Reputation,  (printed  in  Mist's  Journal, 
March  30,  1728,)  where  he  says  thus :  '  In  order  to 
sink  in  reputation,  let  him  take  it  into  his  head  to  de 
scend  into  Homer  (let  the  world  wonder,  as  it  will, 
now  the  devil  he  got  there,)  and  pretend  to  do  him 
into  English,  so  his  version  denote  his  neglect  of  the 
manner  how.'  Strange  variation  '.  We  are  told  in 

Mist's  Journal,  (June  8,) 

'  That  this  translation  of  the  Iliad  was  not  in  all  re 
spects  conformable  to  the  fine  taste  of  his  friend  Mr 
Addison ;  insomuch  that  he  employed  a  younger  muse 
in  an  undertaking  of  this  kind,  which  he  supervised 
himself  Whether  Mr.  Addison  did  find  it  conform 
able  to  his  taste,  or  not,  best  appears  from  his  own 
testimony  the  year  following  its  publication,  in  these 
words  : 

Mr.  Addison's  Freeholder,  No.  40. 
When  I  consider  myself  a  British  freeholder,  I 
am  in  a  particular  manner  pleased  with  the  labours 
of  those  who  have  improved  our  language  with 
the  translations  of  old  Greek  and  Latin  authors. — 
We  have  already  most  of  their  historians  in  our  own 
tongue,  and,  what  is  more  for  the  honour  of  our  Ian 
guage,  it  has  been  taught  to  express  with  elegance 
the  greatest  of  their  poets  in  each  nation.  The  il 
literate  among  our  own  countrymen  may  learn  t 
judge  from  Dryden's  Virgil,  of  the  most  perfect  epi 
performance.  •  And  those  parts  of  Homer  which 


152          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

have  been  published  already  by  Mr.  Pope,  gives  u» 
reason  to  think  that  the  Iliad  will  appear  in  English 
with  as  little  disadvantage  to  that  immortal  poem.' 

As  to  the  rest,  there  is  a  slight  mistake;  for  this 
younger  muse  was  an  elder ;  nor  was  the  gentleman 
(who  is  a  friend  of  our  author)  employed  by  Mr  Ad> 
dison  to  translate  it  after  him,  since  he  saith  himself 
that  he  did  it  before.1  Contrariwise,  that  Mr.  Ad- 
dison  engaged  our  author  in  this  work  appeareth  by 
declaration  thereof  in  the  preface  to  the  Iliad,  printed 
some  time  before  his  death,  and  by  his  own  letters  of 
October  26,  and  November  2, 1713,  where  he  declares 
it  is  his  opinion  that  no  other  person  was  equal  to  it. 

Next  comes  his  Shakspeare  on  the  stage  :  '  Let  him 
(quoth  one,  whom  1  take  to  be 

Mr.  Theobald,  Mist's  Journal,  June  8,  1728,) 
publish  such  an  author  as  he  has  least  studied,  and 
forget  to  discharge  even  the  dull  duty  of  an  editor.  In 
this  project  Jet  him  lend  the  bookseller  his  name  (for 
a  competent  sum  of  money)  to  promote  the  credit  of 
an  exorbitant  subscription.'  Gentle  reader,  be  pleased 
to  cast  thine  eye  on  the  proposal  below  quoted,  and 
on  what  follows  (some  months  after  the  former  as 
sertion)  in  the  same  Journalist  of  June  8  :  'The  book 
seller  proposed  the  book  by  subscription,  and  raised 
some  thousands  of  pounds  for  the  same :  I  believe 
the  gentleman  did  not  share  in  the  profits  of  this  ex 
travagant  subscription.' 

^  After  the  Iliad,  he  undertook  (saith 

Mist's  Journal,  June  8,  1728,) 

the  sequel  of  that  work,  the  Odyssey ;  and  having  se 
cured  the  success  by  a  numerous  subscription,  he  em 
ployed  some  underlings  to  perform  what,  according 
to  his  proposals,  should  come  from  his  own  hands.' 

]  Vid.  Pref.  to  Mr.  Tickell's  translation  of  the  firs< 
hook  of  the  Iliad.  4to. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  153 

To  which  heavy  charge  we  can  in  truth  opposb 
nothing  but  the  words  of 

Mr.  Pope's  Proposal  for  the  Odyssey,  (printed  by  J. 
Watts,  Jan.  10,  1724 :) 

'  I  take  this  occasion  to  declare  that  the  subscrip 
tion  for  Shakspeare  belongs  wholly  to  Mr.  Tonson  : 
and  that  the  benefit  of  this  proposal  is  not  solely  for 
my  own  use,  but  for  that  of  two  of  my  friends,  who 
have  assisted  me  in  this  work.'  But  these  very  gen 
tlemen  are  extolled  above  our  poet  himself  in  another 
of  Mist's  Journals,  March  30,  1728,  saying, '  That  he 
would  not  advise  Mr.  Pope  to  try  the  experiment 
again  of  getting  a  great  part  of  a  book  done  by  as 
sistants,  lest  those  extraneous  parts  should  unhappily 
ascend  to  the  sublime,  and  retard  the  declension  of 
the  whole.'  Behold !  these  underlings  are  become 
good  writers  ! 

If  any  say,  that  before  the  said  Proposals  were 
printed,  the  subscription  was  begun  without  declara 
tion  of  such  assistance ;  verily  those  who  set  it  on 
foot,  or  (as  the  term  is)  secured  it,  to  wit,  the  right 
honourable  the  lord  viscount  Harcourt,  were  he  living, 
would  testify,  and  the  right  honourable  the  lord  Ba- 
thurst,now  living,  doth  testify,  the  same  is  a  falsehood. 

Sorry  I  am,  that  persons  professing  to  be  learned, 
or  of  whatever  rank  of  authors,  should  either  falsely 
tax,  or  be  falsely  taxed.  Yet  let  us,  who  are  only  re 
porters,  be  impartial  in  our  citations,  and  proceed. 

Mist's  Journal,  June  8,  1728. 

'  Mr.  Addison  raised  this  author  from  obscurity,  ob 
tained  him  the  acquaintance  and  friendship  of  the 
whole  body  of  our  nobility,  and  transferred  his  pow 
erful  interests  with  those  great  men  to  this  rising 
bard,  who  frequently  levied  by  that  means  unusual 
contributions  on  the  public.'  Which  surely  cannot 
be,  if,  as  the  author  of  the  Dunciad  Dissected  report- 

VOL.  II.  11 


154          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

eth,  Mr.  Wyeherley  had  before  'introduced  him  into 
a  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  greatest  peers  and 
brightest  wits  then  living.' 

'  No  sooner  (saith  the  same  journalist)  was  his  body 
lifeless,  but  this  author,  reviving  his  resentment,  libel 
led  the  memory  of  his  departed  friend  ;  and  what  wag 
still  more  heinous,  made  the  scandal  public.'  Griev 
ous  the  accusation !  unknown  the  accuser !  the  per 
son  accused  no  witness  in  his  own  cause  ;  the  person, 
in  whose  regard  accused,  dead  !  But  if  there  be  liv 
ing  any  one  nobleman  whose  friendship,  yea  any  one 
gentleman  whose  subscription  Mr.  Addison  procured 
to  our  author,  let  him  stand  forth,  that  truth  may  ap 
pear  !  Amicus  Plato,  amicus  Socrates,  sed  magis 
arnica  veritas.  In  verity,  the  whole  story  of  the  libel 
is  a  lie ;  witness  those  persons  of  integrity,  who  se 
veral  years  before  Mr.  Addison's  decease,  did  see 
and  approve  of  the  said  verses,  in  no  wise  a  libel,  but 
a  friendly  rebuke  sent  privately  in  our  author's  own 
hand  to  Mr.  Addison  himself,  and  never  made  public, 
till  after  their  own  Journals,  and  Curll  had  printed 
the  same.  One  name  alone,  which  I  am  here  au 
thorized  to  declare,  will  sufficiently  evince  this  truth, 
that  of  the  right  honourable  the  earl  of  Burlington. 

Next  is  he  taxed  with  a  crime  (in  the  opinion  of 
some  authors,  I  doubt,  more  heinous  than  any  in  mo-  - 
rality,)   to  wit,  plagiarism,  from   the   inventive   and 
quaint-conceited 

James  Moore  Smith,  Gent. 

'  Upon  reading  the  third  volume  of  Pope's  Miscel 
lanies,  I  found  five  lines  which  I  thought  excellent; 
and  happening  to  praise  them,  a  gentleman  produced 
a  modern  comedy  (the  Rival  Modes)  published  last 
year,  where  were  the  same  verses  to  a  tittle. 

'  These  gentlemen  are  undoubtedly  the  first  plagia 
ries,  that  pretend  to  make  a  reputation  by  stealing 
from  a  man's  works  in  his  own  life-time,  and  out  of  a 


THE  DUNCIAD  15! 

| 

public  print.'1  Let  us  join  to  this  what  is  written  by 
the  author  of  the  Rival  Modes,  the  said  Mr.  James 
Moore  Smith,  in  a  letter  to  our  author  himself,  who 
had  informed  him  a  month  before  that  play  was 
acted,  Jan.  27,  1726-7,  that, '  These  verses,  which  he 
had  before  given  him  leave  to  insert  in  it,  would  be 
known  for  his,  some  copies  being  got  abroad.  He 
desires,  nevertheless,  that  since  the  lines  had  been 
read  in  his  comedy  to  several,  Mr.  P.  would  not  de 
prive  it  of  them,'  &c.  Surely,  if  we  add  the  testimo 
nies  of  the  lord  Bolingbroke,  of  the  lady  to  whom 
the  said  verses  were  originally  addressed,  of  Hugh 
Bethel,  esq.  and  others,  who  knew  them  as  our  au 
thor's  long  before  the  said  gentleman  composed  his 
play,  it  is  hoped,  the  ingenuous,  that  affect  not  error 
will  rectify  their  opinion  by  the  suffrage  of  so  ho 
nourable  personages. 

And  yet  followeth  another  charge,  insinuating  no 
less  than  his  enmity  both  to  church  and  state,  which 
could  come  from  no  other  informer  than  the  said 
Mr.  James  Moore  Smith. 

'The  Memoirs  of  a  Parish  Clerk  was  a  very  dull 
and  unjust  abuse  of  a  person  who  wrote  in  defence 
of  our  religion  and  constitution,  and  who  has  been 
dead  many  years.'2  This  seemeth  also  most  untrue; 
it  being  known  to  divers  that  these  memoirs  were 
written  at  the  seat  of  the  lord  Harcourt,  in  Oxford 
shire,  before  that  excellent  person  (bishop  Burnet's) 
death,  and  many  years  before  the  appearance  of  that 
history,  of  which  they  are  pretended  to  be  an  abuse. 
Most  true  it  is,  that  Mr.  Moore  had  such  a  design, 
and  was  himself  the  man  who  pressed  Dr.  Arbuthnot 
and  Mr.  Pope  to  assist  him  therein ;  and  that  he  bor 
rowed  those  memoirs  of  our  author,  when  that  history 
came  forth,  with  intent  to  turn  them  to  such  abuse 


1  Daily  Journal,  March  18,  1728. 
0  Daily  Journal,  April  3,  1728. 


156  PE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

But  being  able  to  obtain  from  our  author  but  one  sin 
gle  hint,  and  either  changing  his  mind,  or  having  more 
mind  than  ability,  he  contented  himself  to  keep  the 
said  memoirs,  and  read  them  as  his  own  to  all  his  ac 
quaintance.  A  noble  person  there  is,  into  whose 
company  Mr.  Pope  once  chanced  to  introduce  him, 
who  well  remembereth  the  conversation  of  Mr 
Moore  to  have  turned  upon  the  '  contempt  he  had  for 
the  work  of  that  reverend  prelate,  and  how  full  he 
was  of  a  design  he  declared  himself  to  have,  of  ex 
posing  it.'  This  noble  person  is  the  earl  of  Peter 
borough. 

Here  in  truth  should  we  crave  pardon  of  all  the 
foresaid  right  honourable  and  worthy  personages,  for 
having  mentioned  them  in  the  same  page  with  such 
weekly  riff-raff  railers  and  rhymers  ;  but  that  we  had 
their  ever-honoured  commands  for  the  same ;  and 
that  they  are  introduced  not  as  witnesses  in  the  con 
troversy,  but  as  witnesses  that  cannot  be  controvert 
ed;  not  to  dispute,  but  to  decide. 

Certain  it  is,  that  dividing  our  writers  into  two 
classes,  of  such  who  were  acquaintance,  and  of  such 
who  were  strangers  to  our  author ;  the  former  are 
those  who  speak  well,  and  the  other  those  who  speak 
evil  of  him.  Of  the  first  class,  the  most  noble 

John  Duke  of  Buckingham 

sums  up  his  character  in  these  lines  : 

'  And  yet  so  wondrous,  so  sublime  a  thing, 
As  the  great  Iliad,  scarce  could  make  me  sing, 
Unless  I  justly  could  at  once  commend 
A  good  companion,  and  as  firm  a  friend ; 
One  moral,  or  a  mere  well-natured  deed, 
Can  all  desert  in  sciences  exceed.'1 

So  also  is  he  deciphered  by 


I  Verses  to  Mr.  P.  on  his  translation 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


151 


The  Hon.  Simon  Harcourt. 

'Say,  wondrous  youth,  what  column  wilt  thou  choose, 
What  laurell'd  arch,  for  thy  triumphant  muse  ? 
Though  each  great  ancient  court  thee  to  his  shrine, 
Though  every  laurel  through  the  dome  be  thine, 
Go  to  the  good  and  just,  an  awful  train ! 

Thy  soul's  delight .'' 

Recorded  in  like  manner  for  his  virtuous  disposi 
tion,  and  gentle  bearing,  by  the  ingenious 

Mr.  Walter  Hart, 
in  this  apostrophe : 

'  Oh  !  evor  worthy,  ever  crown'd  with  praise  1 
Bless'd  in  thy  life,  and  bless'd  in  all  thy  lays, 
Add,  that  the  Sisters  every  thought  refine, 
And  e'en  thy  life  be  faultless  as  thy  line, 
Vet  envy  still  with  fiercer  rage  pursues, 
Obscures  the  virtue,  and  defames  the  muse. 
A  soul  like  thine,  in  pain,  in  grief,  rcsign'd, 
Views  with  just  scorn  the  malice  of  mankind.'2 
The  witty  and  moral  satirist, 

Dr.  Edward  Young, 

wishing  some  check  to  the  corruption  and  evil  man 
ners  of  the  times,  calleth  out  upon  our  poet  to  under 
take  a  task  so  worthy  of  his  virtue : 

Why  slumbers  Pope,  who  leads  the  Muses'  train, 
Nor  hears  that  virtue,  which  he  loves,  complain?'3 

Mr.  Mallet, 

iu  his  epistle  on  Verbal  Criticism  : 
'  Whose  life,  severely  scann'd,  transcends  his  lays  ., 
For  wit  supreme,  is  but  his  second  praise.' 

Mr.  Hammond, 

Jiat  delicate  and  correct  imitator  of  Tibullus,  in  hii 
Love  Elegies,  Elegy  xiv. 


1  Poem  prefixed  to  liis  works. 

2  In  his  poems,  printed  for  B.  Lintot. 

3  Universal  Passion,  sat.  1. 


158          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Now  fired  by  Pope  and  virtue,  leave  the  age 

In  low  pursuit  of  self-undoing  wrong, 
And  trace  the  author  through  his  moral  page, 
Whose  blameless  life  still  answers  to  his  song. 

Mr.  Thomson, 

In  his  elegant  and  philosophical  poem  the  Seasons  : 
'  Although  not  sweeter  his  own  Homer  sings, 
Yet  is  his  life  the  more  endearing  song.' 
To  the  same  tune  also  singeth  that  learned  clerk,  of 
Suffolk, 

Mr.  William  Broome : 
'  Thus,  nobly  rising  in  fair  virtue's  cause, 
From  thy  own  life  transcribe  the  unerring  laws.'1 
And,  to  close  all,  hear  the  reverend  dean  of  St. 
Patrick's : 

4  A  soul  with  every  virtue  fraught, 
By  patriots,  priests,  and  poets  taught : 
Whose  filial  piety  excels 
Whatever  Grecian  story  tells. 
A  genius  for  each  business  fit  ; 
WThose  meanest  talent  is  his  wit,'  &c. 
Let  us  now  recreate  thee  by  turning  to  the  other 
side,  and  showing  his  character  drawn  by  those  with 
whom  he  never  conversed,  and  whose  countenances 
he  could  not  know,  though  turned  against  him :  First 
again  commencing  with  the  high-voiced  and  never- 
enough  quoted 

Mr.  John  Dennis, 

who,  in  his  Reflections  on  the  Essay  on  Criticism, 
thus  describeth  him  :  '  A  little  affected  hypocrite,  who 
has  nothing  in  his  mouth  but  candour,  truth,  friend 
ship,  good-nature,  humanity,  and  magnanimity.  Ho 
is  so  great  a  lover  of  falsehood,  that  whenever  he 
has  a  mind  to  calumniate  his  contemporaries,  he 
brands  them  with  some  defect  which  was  just  con- 

1  In  his  poems  at  the  end  of  the  Odyssey. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  159 

trary  to  some  good  quality  for  which  all  their  friends 
and  acquaintance  commend  them.  He  seems  to 
have  a  particular  pique  to  people,  of  quality,  and  au 
thors  of  that  rank.: — He  must  derive  his  religion  from 
St.  Omer's.' — But  in  the  character  of  Mr.  P.  and  his 
writings  (printed  by  S.  Popping,  1716)  he  saith, 
'Though  he  is  a  professor  of  the  worst  religion,  yet 
he  laughs  at  it;'  but  that  'nevertheless  he  is  a  viru 
lent  papist ;  and  yet  a  pillar  of  the  church  of  Eng 
land.' 

Of  both  which  opinions 

Mr.  Lewis  Theobald 

seems  also  to  be  ;  declaring  in  Mist's  Journal  of  June 
22,  1718,  'That  if  he  is  not  shrewdly  abused,  he  made 
it  his  practice  to  cackle  to  both  parties  in  their  own 
sentiments.'  But  as  to  his  pique  against  people  of 
quality,  the  same  journalist  doth  not  agree,  but  saith 
(May  8,  1728,)  '  He  had  by  some  means  or  other,  the 
acquaintance  and  friendship  of  the  whole  body  of  our 
nobility.' 

However  contradictory  this  may  appear,  Mr.  Den 
nis  and  Gildon,  in  the  character  last  cited,  make  it 
all  plain,  by  assuring  us, '  That  he  is  a  creature  that 
reconciles  all  contradictions:  he  is  a  beast,  and  a 
man  ;  a  Whig  and  a  Tory  ;  a  writer  (at  one  and  the 
same  time)  of  Guardians  and  Examiners  ;'  an  asser- 
tor  of  liberty,  and  of  the  dispensing  power  of  kings  ;  a 
Jesuitical  professor  of  truth ;  a  base  and  foul  pre 
tender  to  candour.'  So  that,  upon  the  whole  account, 
we  must  conclude  him  either  to  have  been  a  great 
hypocrite,  or  a  very  honest  man  ;  a  terrible  impostor 
upon  both  parties,  or  very  moderate  to  either. 

Be  it  as  to  the  judicious  reader  shall  seem  good. 
Sure  it  is,  he  is  little  favoured  of  certain  authors, 
whose  wrath  is  perilous  ;  for  one  declares  he  ough 

1  The  names  of  two  weekly  papers. 


160          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

to  have  a  price  set  on  his  head,  and  to  be  hunted 
down  as  a  wild  beast.1  Another  protests  that  he 
does  not  know  what  may  happen  ;  advises  him  to 
insure  his  person  ;  says  he  has  bitter  enemies,  and 
expressly  declares  it  will  be  well  if  he  escapes  with 
his  life.2  One  desires  he  would  cut  his  own  throat, 
or  hang  himself.3  But  Pasquin  seemed  rather  inclin 
ed  it  should  be  done  by  the  government,  representing 
him  engaged  in  grievous  designs  with  a  lord  of  par 
liament  then  under  prosecution.4  Mr.  Dennis  himself 
hath  written  to  a  minister,  that  he  is  one  of  the  most 
dangerous  persons  in  this  kingdom  ;5  and  assureth 
the  public,  that  he  is  an  open  and  mortal  enemy  to 
his  country  ;  a  monster  that  will  one  day  show  as 
daring  a  soul  as  a  mad  Indian,  who  runs  a-muck  to 
kill  the  first  Christian  he  meets.6  Another  gives  in 
formation  of  treason  discovered  in  his  poem.7  Mr 
Curll  boldly  supplies  an  imperfect  verse  with  kings 
and  princesses  :8  and  one  Matthew  Concanen,  yet 
more  impudent,  publishes  at  length  the  two  most  sac 
red  names  in  this  nation,  as  members  of  the  Dunciad  !9 
This  is  prodigious  !  yet  it  is  almost  as  strange,  that 
in  the  midst  of  these  invectives  his  greatest  enemies 
have  ( I  know  not  how)  borne  testimony  to  some  meri* 
in  him. 

Mr.  Theobald, 

in   censuring  his  Shakspeare,  declares,  '  He  has  so 
great  an  esteem  for  Mr.  Pope,  and  so  high  an  opinion 

1  Theobald,  Letter  in  Mist's  Journal,  June  22,  1728. 

2  Smedley,  pref.  to  Gulliveriana.  p.  14,  16. 

3  Giilliveriana,  p.  332.      4  Anno  1723.      5  Anno  1729. 
C  Preface  to  RPIU.  on  the  Rape  of  the  Lock,  p.  12 ;  and 

n  the  last  page  01'  that  treatise. 

7  Page  6,  7,  of  the  Preface,  by  Concanen,  to  a  book 
called,  A  Collection  of  all  the  Letters,  Essays,  Verses, 
and  Advertisements,  occasioned  by  Pope  and  Swift's 
Miscellanies.     Printed  for  A.  Mooro,  8vo.  1712. 

8  Key  to  the  Dunciad,  3d  edit.  p.  18. 

9  A  list  of  Persons,  &c.  at  the  end  of  the  foiemen 
tioned  Collection  of  all  the  Letters,  Essays,  &c. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  161 

of  his  genius  and  excellences,  that,  notwithstanding 
he  professes  a  veneration  almost  rising  to  idolatry  for 
the  writings  of  this  inestimable  poet,  he  would  be 
very  loath  even  to  do  him  justice,  at  the  expence  of 
that  other  gentleman's  character.'1 

Mr.  Charles  Gildon, 

after  having  violently  attacked  him  in  many  pieces, 
at  last  came  to  wish  from  his  heart,  '  That  Mr.  Pope 
would  be  prevailed  upon  to  give  us  Ovid's  Epistles 
by  his  hand ;  for  it  is  certain  we  see  the  original  of 
Sappho  to  Phaon  with  much  more  life  and  likeness 
in  his  version,  than  in  that  of  sir  Car  Scrope.  And 
this  (he  adds)  is  the  more  to  be  wished,  because  in 
the  English  tongue  we  have  scarcely  any  thing  truly 
and  naturally  written  upon  love.^1  He  also,  in  taxing 
sir  Richard  Blackmore  for  his  heterodox  opinions  of 
Homer,  challengeth  him  to  answer  what  Mr.  Pope 
hath  said  in  his  preface  to  that  poet. 

Mr.  Oldmixon 

calls  him  a  great  master  of  our  tongue  ;  declares  '  the 
purity  and  perfection  of  the  English  language  to  be 
found  in  his  Homer;  and,  saying  there  are  more  good 
verses  in  Dryden's  Virgil  than  in  any  other  work,  ex 
cept  this  of  our  author  only.'3 

The  Author  of  a  Letter  to  Mr.  Gibber 
says  :  '  Pope  was  so  good  a  versifier  [once]  that,  his 
predecessor  Mr.  Dryden,  and  his  contemporary  Mr 
Prior  excepted,  the  harmony  of  his  numbers  is  equal 
to  any  body's.  And,  that  he  had  all  the  merit  that  a 
man  can  have  that  way.'4  And 

Mr.  Thomas  Cooke, 

after  much  blemishing  ourauthor's  Homer,  crieth  out : 
'  But  in  his  other  works  what  beauties  shine, 
While  sweetest  music  dwells  in  every  line  ! 

1  Introduction  to  his  Shakspeare  Restored,  in  4to.  p.  3. 

2  Commentary  on  the  Duke  of  Buckingham's  Essay 
Bvo,  1721,  p.  97,  98. 

3  In  his  prose  Essay  on  Criticism. 

4  Printed  by  J.  Roberts,  1742,  p.  11. 


1C>2         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

These  he  admired,  on  these  he  stamp'd  his  praise, 
And  bade  them  live  to  brighten  future  days.'1 
So  also  one  who  takes  the  name  of 

H.  Stanhope, 

the  maker  of  certain  verses  to  Duncan  Campbell,2  in 
that  poem,  which  is  wholly  a  satire  upon  Mr.  Pope, 
confesseth, 

1  'Tis  true,  if  finest  notes  alone  could  show 
(Tuned  justly  high,  or  regularly  low) 
That  we  should  fame  to  these  mere  vocals  give , 
Pope  more  than  we  can  offer  should  receive  : 
For  when  some  gliding  river  is  his  theme, 
His  lines  run  smoother  than  the  smoothest  stream, 
&c. 

Mist's  Journal,  June  8,  1728. 

Although  he  says, '  The  smooth  numbers  of  the  Dun- 
ciad  are  all  that  recommend  it,  nor  has  it  any  other 
merit ;'  yet  that  same  paper  hath  these  words  :  '  The 
author  is  allowed  to  be  a  perfect  master  of  an  easy 
and  elegant  versification.  In  all  his  works  we  find 
the  most  happy  turns,  and  natural  similes,  wonderful 
ly  short  and  thick  sown.' 

The  Essay  on  the  Dunciad  also  owns,  p.  25,  it  is 
very  full  of  beautiful  images.  But  the  panegyric 
which  crowns  all  that  can  be  said  on  this  poem,  is 
bestowed  by  our  laureate, 

Mr.  Cottey  CMer, 

who  '  grants  it  to  be  a  better  poem  of  its  kind  than 
ever  was  writ;'  but  adds,  'it  was  a  victory  over  a 
parcel  of  poor  wretches,  whom  it  was  almost  cow 
ardice  to  conquer. — A  man  might  as  well  triumph  for 
having  killed  so  many  silly  flies  that  offended  him. 
Could  he  have  let  them  alone,  by  this  time,  poor  souls ! 
they  had  all  been  buried  in  oblivion.'3  Here  we  see 

1  Battle  of  the  Poets,  folio,  p.  15. 

2  Printed  under  the  title  of  the  Progress  of  Dulncsa, 
!2mo,  1728. 

3  Gibber's  Letter  to  Mr.  Pope,  p.  9.  12. 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


163 


aur  excellent  laureate  allows  the  justice  of  the  satire 
on  every  m»n  in  it,  but  himself;  as  the  great  Mr 
Dennis  did  before  him. 

The  said 

Mr.  Dennis  and  Mr.  Gildon, 

in  the  most  furious  of  all  their  words  (the  forecited 
Character,  p.  5,)  do  in  concert '  confess,  '  that  some 
men  of  good  understanding  value  him  for  his  rhymes.' 
And  (p.  17)  '  that  he  has  got,  like  Mr.  Bayes  in  the 
Rehearsal,  (that  is,  like  Mr.  Dryden,)  a  notable  knack 
at  rhyming,  and  writing  smooth  verse.' 

On  his  Essay  on  Man,  numerous  were  the  praises 
bestowed  by  his  avowed  enemies,  in  the  imagination 
that  the  same  was  not  written  by  him,  as  it  was  print 
ed  anonymously. 

Thus  sang  of  it  even 

Bezaleel  Morris: 

'Auspicious  bard  !  while  all  admire  thy  strain, 

All  but  the  selfish,  ignorant,  and  vain  ; 

•  1  In  concert]  Hear  how  Mr.  Dennis  hath  proved  our 
mistake  in  this  case :  '  As  to  my  writing  in  concert  with 
Mr.  Gildon,  I  declare  upon  the  honour  and  word  of  a 
gentleman,  that  I  never  wrote  so  much  as  one  line  in 
concert  with  any  one  man  whatsoever.  And  these  two 
letters  from  Gildon  will  plainly  show,  that  we  are  not 
writers^ii  concert  with  each  other 
"Sir, 

"  The  height  of  my  ambition  is  to  please  men  of  the 
best  judgment ;  and,  finding  that  I  have  entertained  my 
master  agreeably,  I  have  the  extent  of  the  reward  of  my 
labour." 
"  Sir, 

"I  had  not  the  opportunity  of  hearing  of  your  excellent 
pamphlet  till  this  day.  I  am  infinitely  satisfied  and 
pleased  with  it,  and  hope  you  will  meet  with  that  en 
couragement  your  admirable  performance  deserves,  &c. 

"Cii.  GILDON." 

'Now  is  it  not  plain,  that  any  one  who  sends  such 
compliments  to  another,  has  not  been  used  to  write  in 
partnership  with  him  to  whom  he  sends  them?'  Dennis 
Remarks  on  the  Dunciad,  p.  50.  Mr.  Dennis  is  there 
fore  welcome  to  take  this  piece  to  himself. 


164        POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

I,  whom  no  bribe  to  servile  flattery  drew, 
Must  pay  the  tribute  to  thy  merit  due : 
Thy  muse  sublime,  significant,  and  clear, 
Alike  informs  the  soul,  and  charms  the  ear,'  &c 
And 

Mr.  Leonard  Welstead 

thus  wrote1  to  the  unknown  author,  on  the  first  puU 
lication  of  the  said  Essay  ;  '  I  must  own,  after  the  re 
ception  which  the  vilest  and  most  immoral  ribaldry 
hath  lately  met  with,  I  was  surprised  to  see  what  I 
had  long  despaired,  a  performance  deserving  the  name 
of  a  poet.  Such,  sir,  is  your  work.  It  is,  indeed 
above  all  commendation,  and  ought  to  have  been  pub 
lished  in  an  age  and  country  more  worthy  of  it.  If 
my  testimony  be  of  weight  any  where,  you  are  sure 
to  have  it  in  the  amplest  manner,'  &c.  &c.  &c. 

Thus  we  see  every  one  of  his  works  hath  been  ex 
tolled  by  one  or  other  of  his  most  inveterate  enemies; 
and  to  the  success  of  them  all  they  do  unanimously 
give  testimony.  But  it  is  sufficient  instar  omnium,  to 
behold  the  great  critic,  Mr.  Dennis,  sorely  lamenting 
it,  even  from  the  Essay  on  Criticism  to  this  day  of  the 
Dunciad  !  '  A  most  notorious  instance  (quoth  he)  of 
the  depravity  of  genius  and  taste,  the  approbation  this 
Essay  meets  with.2 — 1  can  safely  affirm,  that  I  never 
attacked  any  of  these  writings,  unless  they  %id  suc 
cess  infinitely  beyond  their  merit.  This,  though  an 
empty,  has  been  a  popular  scribbler.  The  epidemic 
madness  of  the  times  has  given  him  reputation.3 — IfJ 
after  the  cruet  treatment  so  many  extraordinary  men 
(Spenser,  lord  Bacon,  Ben  Jonson,  Milton,  Butler, 
Otway,  and  others)  have  received  from  this  country, 
for  these  last  hundred  years,  I  should  shift  the  scene, 
and  show  all  that  penury  changed  at  once  to  riot 

1  In  a  letter  under  his  own  hand,  dated  March  12, 1733, 

2  Dennis,  Preface  to  his  Reflections  on  the  Essay  on 
Criticism. 

3  Preface  to  his  Remarks  on  Homer. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  165 

and  profuseness  ;  and  more  squandered  away  upon 
one  object,  than  would  have  satisfied  the  greater  part 
of  those  extraordinary  men  ;  the  reader  to  whom  this 
one  creature  should  be  unknown,  would  fancy  him  a 
prodigy  of  art  and  nature,  would  believe  that  all  the 
great  qualities  of  these  persons  were  centered  in  him 
alone.  But  if  I  should  venture  to  assure  him,  that 
the  people  of  England  had  made  such  a  choice — the 
reader  would  either  believe  me  a  malicious  enemy, 
and  slanderer,  or  that  the  reign  of  the  last  (Queen 
Anne's)  ministry  was  designed  by  fate  to  encourage 
fools.'1 

But  it  happens  that  this  our  poet  never  had  any 
place,  pension,  or  gratuity,  in  any  shape,  from  the 
said  glorious  queen,  or  any  of  her  ministers.  All  he 
owed,  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  to  any  court, 
was  a  subscription  for  his  Homer,  of  £200,  from  King 
George  I.  and  ,£100  from  the  prince  and  princess. 

However,  lest  we  imagine  our  author's  success 
was  constant  and  universal,  they  acquaint  us  of  cer 
tain  wo.ks  in  a  less  degree  of  repute,  whereof,  al 
though  owned  by  others,  yet  do  they  assure  us  he  is 
the  writer.  Of  this  sort  Mr.  Dennis2  ascribes  to  him 
two  farces,  whose  names  he  does  not  tell,  but  assures 
us  ;nat  there  is  not  one  jest  in  them ;  and  an  imitation 
of  Horace,  whose  title  he  does  not  mention,  but  as 
sures  us  it  is  much  more  execrable  than  all  his  works.3 
The  Daily  Journal,  May  11,  1728,  assures  us,  'He  is 
below  Tom  Durfey  in  the  drama,  because  (as  that 
writer  thinks)  the  Marriage-Hater  Marched,  and  the 
Boarding  School,  are  better  than  the  What-d'ye-call- 
it ;'  which  is  not  Mr.  P.'s,  but  Mr.  Gay's.  Mr.  Gil- 
don  assures  us,  in  his  New  Rehearsal,  p.  48,  'That 
he  was  writing  a  play  of  the  Lady  Jane  Grey :'  but  it 


1  Rem.  on  Homer,  p.  8,  9.  2  Ib.  p.  8. 

3  Character  of  Mr.  Pope,  p.  7. 


166          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

afterwards  proved  to  be  Mr.  Howe's.  We  are  assur 
ed  by  another, '  He  wrote  a  pamphlet  called  Dr.  An 
drew  Tripe ;''  which  proved  to  be  one  Dr.  WagstafFa 
Mr.  Theobald  assures  us,  in  Mist  of  the  27th  of  April 
4  That  the  treatise  of  the  Profound  is  very  dull,  and 
that  Mr.  Pope  is  the  author  of  it.'  The  writer  of 
Gulliveriana  is  of  another  opinion  ;  and  says,  '  The 
whole,  or  greatest  part,  of  the  merit  of  this  treatise 
must  and  can  only  be  ascribed  to  Gulliver.2  [Here, 
gentle  reader !  cannot  I  but  smile  at  the  strange  blind 
ness  and  positiveness  of  men  ?  knowing  the  said 
treatise  to  appertain  to  none  other  but  to  me,  Mar- 
tinus  Scriblerus.] 

We  are  assured,  in  Mist  of  June  8th,  '  That  his  own 
plays  and  farces  would  better  have  adorned  the  Dun- 
ciad,  than  those  of  Mr.  Theobald  ;  for  he  had  neither 
genius  for  tragedy  nor  comedy.'  Which  whether 
true  or  not,  it  is  not  easy  to  judge ;  in  as  much  as  he 
had  attempted  neither.  Unless  we  will  take  it  for 
granted,  with  Mr.  Gibber,  that  his  being  once  very 
angry  at  hearing  a  friend's  play  abused,  was  an  infal 
lible  proof  the  play  was  his  own  ;  the  said  Mr.  Gib 
ber  thinking  it  impossible  for  a  man  to  be  much  con 
cerned  for  any  but  himself-  '  Now  let  any  man  judge 
(saith  he)  by  his  concern,  who  was  the  true  mother  of 
the  child.'3 

But  from  all  that  has  been  said,  the  discerning 
reader  will  collect,  that  it  little  availed  our  author  to 
have  any  candour,  since,  when  he  declared  he  did 
not  write  for"  others,  it  was  not  credited ;  as  little  to 
have  any  modesty,  since,  when  he  declined  writing  in 
any  way  himself,  the  presumption  of  others  was  im 
puted  to  him.  If  he  singly  enterprised  one  great 
work,  he  was  taxed  of  boldness  and  madness  to  a 
prodigy  :4  if  he  took  assistants  in  another,  it  was  com- 

1  Ib.  p.  6.  SJGulliv.  p.  336.          3  Gibber's  Letters 

to  Mr.  P.  p.  19.  4  Burnet's  Horneridoe,  p.   1,  of  hi* 

translation  of  the  Hind. 


1HE  DUNCJAD.  167 

plained  of,  and  represented  as  a  great  injury  to  tho 
public.1  The  loftiest  heroics,  the  lowest  ballads, 
treatises  against  the  state  or  church,  satires  on  lords 
and  ladies,  raillery  on  wits  and  authors,  squabbles 
with  booksellers,  or  even  full  and  true  accounts  of 
monsters,  poisons,  and  murders  ;  of  any  hereof  was 
there  nothing  so  good,  nothing  so  bad,  which  hath  not 
at  one  or  other  season  been  to  him  ascribed.  If  it 
bore  no  author's  name,  then  lay  he  concealed ;  if  it 
did,  he  fathered  it  upon  that  author  to  be  yet  better 
concealed  :  if  it  resembled  any  of  his  styles,  then  was 
it  evident ;  if  it  did  not,  then  disguised  he  it  on  set 
purpose  Yea,  even  direct  oppositions  in  religion, 
principles,  and  politics,  have  equally  been  supposed 
in  him  inherent.  Surely  a  most  rare  and  singular 
character  :  of  which  let  the  reader  make  what  he  can. 
Doubtless  most  commentators  would  hence  take 
occasion  to  turn  all  to  their  author's  advantage,  and 
from  the  testimony  of  his  very  enemies  would  affirm, 
that  his  capacity  was  boundless,  as  well  as  his  imagi 
nation  ;  that  he  was  a  perfect  master  of  all  styles,  and 
all  arguments  ;  and  that  there  was  in  those  times,  no 
other  writer,  in  any  kind,  of  any  degree  of  excellence, 
save  he  himself.  But  as  this  is  not  our  own  senti 
ment,  we  shall  determine  on  nothing ;  but  leave  thee, 
gentle  reader,  to  steer  thy  judgment  equally  between 
various  opinions,  and  to  choose  whether  thou  wilt 
incline  to  the  testimony  of  authors  avowed,  or  of  au 
thors  concealed;  of  those  who  knew  him,  or  of  those 
who  knew  him  not.  P 


1  The  London  andJVfist's  Journals,  on  his  undertaking 
the  Odyssey, 


168         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

MARTINUS  SCRIBLERUS 

OF  THE  POEM. 

THIS  poem,  as  it  celebrateth  the  most  grave  am 
ancient  of  things,  Chaos,  Night,  and  Dulness  :  so  is  r 
of  the  most  grave  and  ancient  kind  Homer  (saitb 
Aristotle)  was  the  first  who  gave  the  form,  and  (saitp 
Horace)  who  adapted  the  measure  to  heroic  poesy 
But  even  before  this,  may  be  rationally  presumedj 
from  what  the  ancients  have  left  written,  was  a  piece 
by  Homer,  composed  of  like  nature  and  matter  with 
this  of  our  poet.  For  of  epic  sort  it  appeareth  to  have 
been,  yet  of  matter  surely  not  unpleasant,  witness 
what  is  reported  of  it  by  the  learned  archbishop 
Eustathius,  in  Odyss.  x.  And  accordingly  Aristotle, 
in  his  Poetics,  chap.  iv.  doth  further  set  forth,  that  as 
the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  gave  example  to  tragedy,  so  did 
this  poem  to  comedy  its  first  idea. 

From  these  authors  also  it  should  seem,  that  the 
hero,  or  chief  personage  of  it  was  no  less  obscure,  and 
his  understanding  and  sentiments  no  less  quaint  and 
strange  (if  indeed  no  more  so;  than  any  of  the  actors 
of  our  poem.  Margites  was  the  name  of  this  person 
age,  whom  antiquity  recordeth  to  have  been  Dunce 
the  first ;  and  surely  from  what  we  hear  of  him,  not 
unworthy  to  be  the  root  of  so  spreading  a  tree,  and 
so  numerous  a  posterity.  The  poem,  therefore,  cele 
brating  him  was  properly  and  absolutely  a  Dunciad 
which,  though  now  unhappily  lost,  yet  is  its  nature 
sufficiently  known  by  the  infallible  tokens  aforesaid. 
And  thus  it  doth  appear,  that  the  first  Dunciad  was 
the  first  epic  poem,  written  by  Homer  himself,  and 
anterior  even  to  the  Iliad  or  Odyssey. 

Now,  forasmuch  as  our  poet  hath  translated  those 
two  famous  works  of  Homer  which  are  yet  left,  ho 
did  conceive  it  in  some  sort  his  dutv  to  imitate  thai 


THE  DUNCIAD 


169 


also  which  was  lost :  and  was  therefore  induced  to 
bestow  on  it  the  same  form  which  Homer's  is  report 
ed  to  have  had,  namely,  that  of  epic  poem ;  with  a 
title  also  framed  after  the  ancient  Greek  manner,  to 
wit,  that  of  Dunciad. 

Wonderful  it  is,  that  so  few  of  the  moderns  have 
been  stimulated  to  attempt  some  Dunciad  !  since  in 
the  opinion  of  the  multitude,  it  might  cost  less  pain 
and  toil  than  an  imitation  of  the  greater  epic.  But 
possible  it  is  also,  that,  on  due  reflection,  the  maker 
might  find  it  easier  to  paint  a  Charlemagne,  a  Brute, 
or  a  Godfrey  with  just  pump  and  dignity  heroic,  than 
a  Margites,  a  Codrus,  or  a  Fleckno. 

We  shall  next  declare  the  occasion  and  the  cause 
which  moved  our  poet  to  this  particular  work.  He 
lived  in  those  days,  when  (after  providence  had  per 
mitted  the  invention  of  printing  as  a  scourge  for  the 
sins  of  the  learned)  paper  also  became  so  cheap,  and 
printers  so  numerous,  that  a  deluge  of  authors  cover 
ed  the  land ;  whereby  not  only  the  peace  of  the  ho 
nest  unwriting  subject  was  daily  molested,  but  unmer 
ciful  demands  were  made  of  his  applause,  yea,  of  his 
money,  by  such  as  would  neither  earn  the  one  nor 
deserve  the  other.  At  the  same  time,  the  licence  of 
the  press  was  such,  that  it  grew  dangerous  to  refuse 
them  either:  for  they  would  forthwith  publish  slan 
ders  unpunished,  the  authors  being  anonymous,  and 
skulking  under  the  wings  of  publishers,  a  set  of  men 
who  neither  scrupled  to  vend  either  calumny  or  blas 
phemy,  as  long  as  the  town  would  call  for  it. 

1  Now  our  author,  living  in  those  times,  did  con 
ceive  it  an  endeavour  well  worthy  an  honest  satirist, 
to  dissuade  the  dull,  and  punish  the  wicked,  the  only 
way  that  was  left.  In  that  public-spirited  view  he 
laid  the  plan  of  this  poem,  as  the  greatest  service  he 
was  capable  (without  much  hurt,  or  being  slain)  to 

1  Vide  Bossu ,  Du  Poeme  Epique.  chap.  viii. 
VOL.  II  12 


170         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

render  his  dear  country.  First,  taking  tilings  from 
their  original,  he  considereth  the  causes  creative  of 
such  authors,  namely,  dulness  and  poverty ;  the  one 
born  with  them,  the  other  contracted  by  neglect  of 
their  proper  talents,  through  self-conceit  of  greater 
abilities.  This  truth  he  wrappeth  in  an  allegory1  (as 
the  construction  of  epic  poesy  requireth,)  and  feigns 
that  one  of  these  goddesses  had  taken  up  her  abode 
with  the  other,  and  that  they  jointly  inspired  all  such 
writers  and  such  works.  He  proceedeth  to  show 
the  qualities  they  bestow  on  these  authors,2  and  the 
effects  they  produce  :3  then  the  materials  or  stock, 
with  which  they  furnish  them ;'  and,  above  all,  that 
self-opinion5  which  causeth  it  to  seem  to  themselves 
vastly  greater  than  it  is,  and  is  the  prime  motive  of 
their  setting  up  in  this  sad  and  sorry  merchandise. 
The  great  power  of  these  goddesses  acting  in  alli 
ance  (whereof  as  the  one  is  the  mother  of  industry, 
so  is  the  other  of  plodding)  was  to  be  exemplified  in 
some  one  great  and  remarkable  action;  and  none  could 
be  more  so  than  that  which  our  poet  hath  chosen,6  viz. 
the  restoration  of  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  Night,  by 
the  ministry  of  Dulness,  their  daughter,  in  the  removal 
of  her  imperial  seat  from  the  city  to  the  polite  world, 
as  the  action  of  the  ^Eneid  is  the  restoration  of  the 
empire  of  Troy,  by  the  removal  of  the  race  from 
thence  to  Latium.  But  as  Homer  singeth  only  the 
wrath  of  Achilles,  yet  includes  in  his  poem  the  whole 
listory  of  the  Trojan  war,  in  like  manner  our  author 
*iath  drawn  into  this  single  action  the  whole  history 
•>f  Dulness  and  her  children. 

A  person  must  next  be  fixed  upon  to  support  this 
iction.     This  phantom  in  the  poet's  mind  must  have 

i  name,7  he  finds  it  to  be ;  and  he  become* 

)f  cowse  the  hero  of  the  poem. 

1  Bossu,  chap.  vii.  2  Book  I.  ver.  32,  &c. 

3  Vor.  45  to  54.  4  Ver.  57  to  77.  5  Ver.  80. 

ti   Ibid.  chap.  vii.  viii. 
7  Bossu,  chap,  viii.  Vide  Aristot.  Poet,  chap  ix. 


THE  DUNCIAD  171 

The  fable  being  thus,  according  to  the  best  exam 
pie,  one  and  entire,  as  contained  in  the  proposition  , 
.he  machinery  is  a  continued  chain  of  allegories, 
setting  forth  the  whole  power,  ministry,  and  empire, 
of  Dulness,  extended  through  her  subordinate  instru 
ments,  in  all  her  various  operations. 

This  is  branched  into  episodes,  each  of  which  hat  I' 
its  moral  apart,  though  all  conducive  to  the  main  end. 
The  crowd  assembled  in  the  second  book,  demon- 
ftrates  the  design  to  be  more  extensive  than  to  bad 
poets  only,  and  that  we  may  expect  other  episodes 
of  the  patrons,  encouragers,  or  paymasters  of  such 
authors,  as  occasion  shall  bring  them  forth.  And  the 
third  book,  if  well  considered,  seemet'n  to  embrace 
the  whole  world.  Each  of  the  games  relateth  to 
some  or  other  vile  class  of  writers  :  the  first  concern- 
eth  the  plagiary,  to  whom  he  giveth  the  name  of 
Moore ;  the  second,  the  libellous  novelist,  whom  he 
styleth  Eliza;  the  third,  the  flattering  dictator;  the 
fourth,  the  brawling  critic,  or  noisy  poet ;  the  fifth. 
the  dark  and  dirty  party  writer :  and  so  of  the  rest . 
assigning  to  each  some  proper  name  or  other,  such 
as  he  could  find. 

As  for  the  characters,  the  public  hath  already  ac 
knowledged  how  justly  they  are  drawn  ;  the  manners 
are  so  depicted,  and  the  sentiment  so  peculiar  to 
those  to  whom  applied,  that  surely  to  transfer  ihern 
to  any  other  or  wiser  personages,  would  be  exceed 
ing  difficult :  and  certain  it  is,  that  every  person  con 
cerned,  being  consulted  apart,  hath  readily  owned 
the  resemblance  of  every  portrait,  his  own  excepted. 
So  3Ir.  Gibber  calls  them  'a  parcel  of  poor  wretches, 
BO  many  silly  flies  :''  but  adds,  'our  author's  wit  is 
remarkably  more  bare  and  barren,  whenever  it  would 
fall  foul  on  Gibber,  than  upon  any  other  person  what* 
ever.' 

1  Gibber's  Letter  to  Mr.  P.  p.  9,  15,  4 1 . 


#2         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

The  descriptions  are  singular,  the  comparisons  very 
ctiaint,  the  narration  various,  yet  of  one  colour;  the 
purity  and  chastity  of  diction  is  so  preserved,  that,  in 
the  places  most  suspicious,  not  the  words  but  only 
the  images  have  been  censured,  and  yet  are  those 
images  no  other  than  have  been  sanctified  by  ancient 
and  classical  authority  (though,  as  was  the  manner 
of  those  good  times,  not  so  curiously  wrapped  up,) 
yea,  and  commented  upon  by  the  most  grave  doctors 
and  approved  critics. 

As  it  beareth  the  name  of  epic,  it  is  thereby  sub 
jected  to  such  severe  indispensable  rules  as  are  laic 
on  all  neoterics,  a  strict  imitation  of  the  ancients ;  in 
Romuch  that  any  deviation,  accompanied  with  what 
ever  poetic  beauties,  hath  always  been  censured  by 
the  sound  critic.  How  exact  that  limitation  hatb 
been  in  this  piece,  appeareth  not  only  by  its  general 
structure,  but  by  particular  allusions  infinite,  many 
whereof  have  escaped  both  the  commentator  and 
poet  himself,  yea,  divers  by  his  exceeding  diligence 
are  so  altered  and  interwoven  with  the  rest,  that  se 
veral  have  already  been,  and  more  will  be,  by  the  ig- 
noraat  abused,  as  altogether  and  originally  his  own. 

In  a  word,  the  whole  poem  proveth  itself  to  be  the 
work  of  our  author,  when  his  faculties  were  in  full 
vigour  and  perfection  ;  at  that  exact  time  when  years 
have  ripened  the  judgment,  without  diminishing  the 
imagination:  which,  by  good  critics,  is  held  to  be 
punctually  at  forty.  For  at  that  season  it  was  that 
Virgil  finished  his  Gcorgics ;  and  sir  Richard  Black- 
more,  at  the  like  age,  composing  his  Arthurs,  declared 
the  same  to  be  the  very  acme  and  pitch  of  life  for 
epic  poesy  :  though  since  he  hath  altered  it  to  sixty, 
the  year  in  which  he  published  his  Alfred.1  True  it 
is,  that  the  talents  for  criticism,  namely,  smartness, 
quick  censure,  vivacity  of  remark,  certainty  of  asseve- 

1  See  his  Essays. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  173 

i  •  Jon,  indeed  all  but  acerbity,  seem  rather  the  gvfts 
*i  youth  than  of  riper  age  :  but  it  is  far  otherwise  in 
owetry ;  witness  the  works  of  Mr.  Rymer  and  Mr 
Dennis,  who,  beginning  with  criticism,  became  after 
wards  such  poets  as  no  age  hath  paralleled.  With 
good  reason,  therefore,  did  our  author  choose  to  write 
his  essay  on  that  subject  at  twenty,  and  reserve  for 
his  maturer  years  this  great  and  wonderful  work  of 
tho  Dunciad. 


RICARDUS  ARISTARCHUS 

Of  the  Hero  of  the  Poem. 

OF  the  nature  of  Dunciad  in  general,  whence  de 
rived,  and  on  what  authority  founded,  as  well  as  of 
the  art  and  conduct  of  this  our  poem  in  particular, 
the  learned  and  laborious  Scriblerus  hath,  according 
to  his  manner,  and  with  tolerable  share  of  judgment, 
dissertated.  But  when  he  cometh  to  speak  of  the 
person  of  the  hero  fitted  for  sucli  poem,  in  truth  he 
miserably  halts  and  hallucinates :  for,  misled  by  one 
Monsieur  Bossu,  a  Gallic  critic,  he  prateth  of  I  can 
not  tell  what  phantom  of  a  hero,  only  raised  up  to 
support  the  fable.  A  putid  conceit !  as  if  Homer 
and  Virgil,  like  modern  undertakers,  who  first  build 
their  house,  and  then  seek  out  for  a  tenant,  had  con 
trived  the  story  of  a  war  and  a  wandering,  before 
they  once  thought  cither  of  Achilles  or  JSneas.  We 
shall  therefore  set  our  good  brother  and  the  world 
also  right  in  this  particular,  by  assuring  them,  that,  in 
the  greater  epic,  the  prime  intention  of  the  muse  is  to 
exalt  heroic  virtue,  in  order  to  propagate  the  love  of 
it  among  the  children  of  men  ;  and  consequently  that 
the  poet's  first  thought  must  needs  be  turned  upon  a 
real^  subject  meet  for  laud  and  celebration;  not  one 
whom  he  is  to  make,  but  one  whom  he  may  find, 
truly  illustrious.  This  is  the  primum  mobile  of  hit 


174          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

poetic  world,  whence  every  thing  is  to  receive  lifd 
and  motion.  For,  this  subject  being  found,  he  is  im 
mediately  ordained,  or  rather  acknowledged,  a  hero, 
and  put  upon  such  action  as  befitteth  the  dignity  of 
his  character. 

But  the  muse  ceaseth  not  here  her  eagle-flight. 
For  sometimes,  satiated  with  the  contemplation  of 
these  suns  of  glory,  she  turneth  downward  on  her 
wing,  and  darts  with  Jove's  lightning  on  the  goose 
and  serpent  kind.  For  we  may  apply  to  the  muse  in 
her  various  moods  what  an  ancient  master  of  wisdom 
affirmeth  of  the  gods  in  general :  Si  Dii  non  iras- 
cuntur  impiis  et  injustis,  nee  pios  utiquejuslosque  dill- 
gunt.  In  rebus  enim  diversis,  aut  in  utramque  partem 
moveri  necesse  est,  aut  in  neutram.  Ilaque  qui  bonos 
diligit,  tt  males  odit ;  et  qui  malos  non  odit,  nee  bonos 
diligit.  Quia  et  diligere  bonos  ex  odio  malorum  venit; 
et  malos  odisse  ex  bonorum  caritate  descendit.  Which 
in  our  vern?  ;ular  idiom  may  be  thus  interpreted :  '  If 
the  gods  bf  /lot  provoked  at  evil  men,  neither  are  they 
delighted  with  the  good  and  just.  For  contrary  ob 
jects  must  either  excite  contrary  affections,  or  no  af 
fections  at  all.  So  that  lie  who  loveth  good  men, 
must,  at  the  same  time,  hate  the  bad ;  and  he  who 
hateth  not  bad  men,  cannot  love  the  good  :  because 
to  love  good  proceedeth  from  an  aversion  to  evil,  and 
to  hate  evil  men  from  a  tenderness  to  the  good. 
From  this  delicacy  of  the  muse  arose  the  little  epic 
(more  lively  and  choleric  than  her  elder  sister,  whose 
bulk  and  complexion  incline  her  to  the  phlegmatic  :) 
and  for  this,  some  notorious  vehicle  of  vice  and  foliy 
was  sought  out,  to  make  thereof  an  example.  An 
early  instance  of  which  (nor  could  it  escape  the  ac 
curacy  of  Scriblerus)  the  father  of  epic  poem  him 
self  affordeth  us.  From  him  the  practice  descended 
to  the  Greek  dramatic  poets,  his  offspring ;  who,  in 
the  composition  of  their  tetralogy,  or  set  of  four 
pieces,  were  wont  to  make  the  last  a  satiric  tragedy 


THE  DUNCIAD.  175 

Happily,  one  of  these  ancient  Duuciads  (as  we  may 
well  term  it)  is  come  down  unto  us,  amongst  the  tra 
gedies  of  the  poet  Euripides.  And  what  doth  the 
reader  suppose  may  be  the  subject  thereof?  Why, 
in  truth,  and  it  is  worthy  observation,  the  unequal 
contest  of  an  old,  dull,  debauched  buffoon  Cyclops, 
with  the  heaven-directed  favourite  of  Minerva ;  who, 
after  having  quietly  borne  all  the  monster's  obscene 
and  impious  ribaldry,  endeth  the  farce  in  punishing 
him  with  the  mark  of  an  indelible  brand  in  his  fore 
head.  May  we  not  then  be  excused,  if,  for  the  future, 
we  consider  the  epics  of  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Milton, 
together  with  this  our  poem,  as  a  complete  tetralogy  ; 
in  which  the  last  worthily  holdeth  the  place  or  sta 
tion  of  the  satiric  piece? 

Proceed  we,  therefore,  in  our  subject.  It  hath 
been  long,  and,  alas  for  pity  !  still  remaineth  a  ques 
tion,  whether  the  hero  of  the  greater  epic  should  be 
an  honest  man  ;  or,  as  the  French  critics  express  it, 
un  Jinnneie  homme:1  but  it  never  admitted  of  a  doubt, 
but  that  the  hero  of  the  little  epic  should  be  just  the 
contrary.  Hence,  to  the  advantage  of  our  Dunciad, 
we  may  observe,  how  much  juster  the  moral  of  that 
poem  must  needs  be  where  so  important  a  question 
is  previously  decided. 

But  then  it  is  not  every  knave,  nor  (let  me  add) 
every  fool,  that  is  a  fit  subject  for  a  Dunciad.  There 
must  still  exist  some  analogy,  if  not  resemblance  of 
qualities,  between  the  heroes  of  the  two  poems;  and 
this,  in  order  to  admit  what  neoteric  critics  call 
the  parody,  one  of  the  liveliest  graces  of  the  little 
epic.  Thus  it  being  agreed  that  the  constituent 
qualities  of  the  great  epic  hero,  are  wisdom,  bravery, 
and  love,'  from  whence  springeth  heroic  virtue ;  it 
followeth,  that  those  of  the  lesser  epic  hero  should 


1  Si  un  heros  poi;tique  doit  fctre  tin  honnfite  homm* 
Bossu,  du  Poeme  Epique,  liv.  v.  ch.  5 


176          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

be  vanity,  assurance,  and  debauchery,  from  which 
happy  assemblage  resulteth  heroic  dulness,  the  never- 
dying  subject  of  this  our  poem. 

This  being  settled,  come  we  now  to  particulars.  It 
is  the  character  of  true  wisdom  to  seek  its  chief  sup 
port  and  confidence  within  itself;  and  to  place  that 
support  in  the  resources  which  proceed  from  a  con 
scious  rectitude  of  will. — And  are  the  advantages  of 
vanity,  when  arising  to  the  heroic  standard,  at  all 
short  of  this  self-complacence  ?  nay,  are  they  not,  in 
the  opinion  of  the  enamoured  owner;  far  beyond  it  1 
'Let  the  world,'  will  such  an  one  say,  'impute  to  me 
what  folly  or  weakness  they  please  :  but  till  wisdom 
can  give  me  something  that  will  make  me  more 
heartily  happy,  I  am  content  to  be  gnzed  at.'1  This, 
we  see,  is  vanity  according  to  the  heroic  gage  or 
measure ;  not  that  low  and  ignoble  species  which 
pretendeth  to  virtues  we  have  not ;  but  the  laudable 
ambition  of  being  gazed  at  for  glorying  in  those  vices 
which  every  body  knows  we  have.  '  The  world 
may  ask,'  says  he,  '  why  I  make  my  follies  public? 
Why  not?  I  have  passed  my  life  very  pleasantly  with 
them.'2  In  short,  there  is  no  sort  of  vanity  such  a 
hero  would  scruple,  but  that  which  might  go  near  to 
degrade  him  from  his  high  station  in  this  our  Dun- 
ciad  ;  namely,  'whether  it  would  not  be  vanity  in  him, 
to  take  shame  to  himself,  for  not  being  a  wise  man  ?'3 

Bravery,  the  second  attribute  of  the  true  hero,  is 
courage  manifesting  itself  in  every  limb ;  while  its 
correspondent  virtue,  in  the  mock  hero,  is  that  same 
courage  all  collected  into  the  face.  And  as  power, 
when  drawn  together,  must  needs  have  more  force 
and  spirit  than  when  dispersed,  we  generally  find  this 
kind  of  courage  in  so  high  and  heroic  a  degree,  that 
it  insults  not  only  men,  but  gods.  Mezentius  is, 


1  I)od.  to  the  Life  of  C.  0.        2  Life,  p.  0,  Svo.  edit. 
3  Ibid. 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


177 


without  doubt,  the  bravest  character  in  all  the  .-Eneis 
but  how  ?  His  bravery,  we  know,  was  a  high  cou 
rage  of  blasphemy.  And  can  we  say  less  of  this 
brave  man's  ?  who,  having  told  us  that  he  placed  his 
'  summum  bonwn  in  those  follies  which  he  was  not 
content  barely  to  possess,  but  would  likewise  glory 
in,'  adds,  'if  I  am  misguided,  'tis  nature's  fault,  and  I 
follow  her.'1  Nor  can  we  be  mistaken  in  making 
this  happy  quality  a  species  of  courage,  when  we 
consider  those  illustrious  marks  of  it,  which  made  his 
face  'more  known  (as  he  justly  boastelh)  than  most 
in  the  kingdom;'  and  his  language  to  consist  of  what 
we  must  allow  to  be  the  most  daring  figure  of  speech, 
that  which  is  taken  from  the  name  of  God. 

Gentle  love,  the  next  ingredient  of  the  true  hero's 
composition,  is  a  mere  bird  of  passage,  or  (as  Shak- 
speare  calls  it)  'summer-teeming  lust,'  and  evaporates 
in  the  heat  of  youth ;  doubtless  by  that  refinement  it 
suffers  in  passing  through  those  certain  strainers 
which  our  poet  somewhere  speaketh  of.  But  when 
it  is  let  alone  to  work  upon  the  lees,  it  acquireth 
strength  by  old  age ;  and  becometh  a  lasting  orna 
ment  to  the  little  epic.  It  is  true,  indeed,  there  is 
one  objection  to  its  fitness  for  such  a  use :  for  not 
only  the  ignorant  may  think  it  common,  but  it  is  ad 
mitted  to  be  so,  even  by  him  who  best  knoweth  its 
value.  '  Don't  you  think,'  argueth  he,  '  to  say  only 
a  man  has  his  whore,2  ought  to  go  for  little  or 
nothing  ?  because  defendit  numems.  Take  the  first 
ten  thousand  men  you  meet,  and,  I  believe,  you  would 
be  no  loser  if  you  betted  ten  to  one  that  every  single 
sinner  of  them,  one  with  another,  had  been  guilty  of 
the  same  frailty.'3  But  here  he  seemeth  not  to  have 


1  Life  of  C.  C.  p.  23.       2  Alluding  to  these  Hues  ir  tbs 
tpistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot: 

'  And  has  not  Colly  still  his  lord  and  whore, 
His  butchers  Honley,  his  frec-raaso'is  Moon1*! 

3  Letter  to  Mr.  P.  p.  4C>. 


ore?' 


178          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

done  justice  to  himself:  the  man  is  sure  enough  a 
hero  who  hath  his  lady  at  fourscore.  How  doth  his 
modesty  herein  lessen  the  merit  of  a  whole  well- 
spent  life !  not  taking  to  himself  the  commendation 
(which  Horace  accounted  the  greatest  in  a  theatrical 
character)  of  continuing  to  the  very  dregs  the  same 
he  was  from  the  beginning, 

' Servetur  ad  imum 

Qualis  ab  incepto  processerat .' 

But  here,  in  justice  both  to  the  poet  and  the  hero, 
let  us  farther  remark,  that  the  calling  her  his  whore, 
implied  she  was  his  own,  and  not  his  neigVibour's. 
Truly  a  commendable  continence !  and  such  as  Scipio 
himself  must  have  applauded.  For  how  much  self- 
denial  was  necessary  not  to  covet  his  neighbour's 
whore!  and  what  disorders  must  the  coveting  her 
have  occasioned  in  that  society,  where  (according  to 
this  political  calculator)  nine  in  ten  of  all  ages  have 
their  concubines ! 

We  have  now,  as  briefly  as  we  could  devise,  gone 
through  the  three  constituent  qualities  of  either  hero. 
But  it  is  not  in  any,  or  in  all  of  these,  that  heroism 
properly  or  essentially  resideth.  It  is  a  lucky  result 
rather  from  the  collision  of  these  lively  qualities 
against  one  another.  Thus,  as  from  wisdom,  bravery, 
and  love,  ariseth  magnanimity,  the  object  of  admira 
tion,  which  is  the  aim  of  the  greater  epic ;  so  from 
vanity,  assurance,  and  debauchery,  springeth  buf. 
foonery,  the  source  of  ridicule,  that  'laughing  orna 
ment,'  as  he  well  termeth  it,1  of  the  little  epic. 

He  is  not  ashamed  (God  forbid  he  ever  should  be 
ashamed!)  of  this  character,  who  deemeth  that  not 
reason  but  risibility  distinguished!  the  human  species 
from  the  brutal.  '  As  nature,'  saith  this  profound  phi 
losopher,  '  distinguished  our  species  from  the  mute 
creation  by  our  risibility,  her  design  must  have  been 

1  Letter  to  Mr.  P.  p.  31. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  179 

by  that  faculty  as  evidently  to  raise  our  happiness,  as 
by  our  os  sublime  (our  erected  faces)  to  lift  the  dig 
nity  of  our  form  above  them.'1  All  this  considered, 
how  complete  a  hero  must  he  be,  as  well  as  how 
happy  a  man,  whose  risibility  lieth  not  barely  in  his 
muscles,  as  in  the  common  sort,  but  (as  himself  in- 
formeth  us)  in  his  very  spirits  ?  and  whose  os  sublime 
is  not  simply  an  erect  face,  but  a  brazen  head ;  as 
should  seem  by  his  preferring  it  to  one  of  iron,  said 
to  belong  to  the  late  king  of  Sweden  ?2 

But  whatever  personal  qualities  a  hero  may  have, 
the  examples  of  Achilles  and  ./Eneas  show  us,  that  all 
those  are  of  small  avail,  without  the  constant  assist 
ance  of  the  gods ;  for  the  subversion  and  erection  of 
empires  have  never  been  adjudged  the  work  of  man. 
How  greatly  soever  then  we  may  esteem  of  his  high 
talents,  we  can  hardly  conceive  his'personal  prowess 
alone  sufficient  to  restore  the  decayed  empire  of  dul- 
ness.  So  weighty  an  achievement  must  require  the 
particular  favour  and  protection  of  the  great ;  who 
being  the  natural  patrons  and  supporters  of  letters,  as 
the  ancient  gods  were  of  Troy,  must  first  be  drawn 
off  and  engaged  in  another  interest,  before  the  total 
subversion  of  them  can  be  accomplished.  To  sur 
mount,  therefore,  this  last  and  greatest  difficulty,  we 
have,  in  this  excellent  man,  a  professed  favourite  and 
intimado  of  the  great.  And  look,  of  what  force  an 
cient  piety  was  to  draw  the  gods  into  the  party  of 
jEneas,  that,  and  much  stronger,  is  modern  incense, 
to  engage  the  great  in  the  party  of  dulness. 

Thus  have  we  essayed  to  portray  or  shadow  out 
this  noble  imp  of  fame.  But  now  the  impatient  reader 
will  be  apt  to  say, '  If  so  many  and  various  graces  go 
to  the  making  up  a  hero,  what  mortal  shall  suffice  to 
»ear  his  character  ?'  Ill  hath  he  read  who  seeth  noff 
in  every  trace  of  this  picture,  that  individual,  all-ac- 

1  Life,  p.  23,  24.  2  Letter  to  Mr.  P.  p  3. 


180          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

complished  person,  in  whom  these  rare  virtues  and 
lucky  circumstances  have  agreed  to  meet  and  con 
centre  with  the  strongest  lustre  and  fullest  harmony. 

The  good  Scriblerus  indeed,  nay,  the  world  itself, 
might  be  imposed  on,  in  the  late  spurious  editions,  by 
I  can't  tell  what  sham-hero  or  phantom ;  but  it  was 
not  so  easy  to  impose  on  him  whom  this  egregious 
error  most  of  all  concerned.  For  no  sooner  had  the 
fourth  book  laid  open  the  high  and  swelling  scene, 
but  he  recognized  his  own  heroic  acts :  and  when  he 
came  to  the  words, 

'  Soft  on  her  lap  her  laureat  son  reclines,' 
(though  laureat  imply  no  more  than  one  crowned 
with  laurel,  as  befitteth  any  associate  or  consort  in 
empire,)  he  loudly  resented  this  indignity  to  violated 
Majesty.  Indeed,  not  without  cause,  he  being  there 
represented  as  fast  asleep ;  so  misbeseeming  the  eye 
of  empire,  which,  like  that  of  Providence,  should 
never  doze  nor  slumber.  '  Hah !'  saith  he, '  fast  asleep, 
it  seems  !  that  "s  a  little  too  strong.  Pert  and  dull  at 
least  you  might  have  allowed  me,  but  as  seldom 
asleep  as  any  fool.'1  However,  the  injured  hero  may 
comfort  himself  with  this  reflection,  that  though  it  be 
a  sleep,  yet  it  is  not  the  sleep  of  death,  but  of  immor 
tality.  Here  he  will2  live  at  least,  though  not  awake ; 
and  in  no  worse  condition  than  many  an  enchanted 
warrior  before  him.  The  famous  Durandante,  for  in 
stance,  was,  like  him,  cast  into  a  long  slumber  by 
Merlin  the  British  bard  and  necromancer  ;  and  his 
example  for  submitting  to  it  with  a  good  grace,  might 
be  of  use  to  our  hero.  For  that  disastrous  knight  be 
ing  sorely  pressed  or  driven  to  make  his  answer  by 
several  persons  of  quality,  only  replied  with  a  sigh, 

Patience,  and  shuffle  the  cards.'3 

HlJut  now,  as  nothing  in  this  world,  no  not  the  most 

1  Letter  to  Mr.  P.  p.  53.  2  Letter,  p.  1. 

3  Don  Quixote,  uart  ii.  book  li.  rh.  22. 


THE  DUNC1AD.  181 

sacred  and  perfect  things,  either  of  religion  or  go 
vernment,  can  escape  the  sting  of  envy,  methinks  I 
already  hear  these  carpers  objecting  to  the  clearness 
of  our  hero's  title. 

'It  would  never,"  say  they,  'have  been  esteemed 
sufficient  to  make  a  hero  for  the  Iliad  or  ^Eneis;  that 
Achilles  was  brave  enough  to  overturn  one  empire, 
or  .Eneas  pious  enough  to  raise  another,  had  they  not 
been  goddess  born,  and  princes  bred.  What  then 
did  this  author  mean,  by  erecting  a  player  instead  of 
one  of  his  patrons  (a  person,  "  never  a  hero  even  on 
the  stage,"1)  to  this  dignity  of  colleague  in  the  empire 
of  dulness,  and  achiever  of  a  work  that  neither  old 
Omar,  Attila,  nor  John  of  Leyden  could  entirely 
bring  to  pass  ?' 

To  all  this  we  have,  as  we  conceive,  a  sufficient 
answer  from  the  Roman  historian,  fdbrum  esse  suce 
quemquc  fartunce :  'that  every  man  is  the  smith  of  his 
own  fortune.'  The  politic  Florentine,  Nicholas 
Machiavel,  goeth  still  further,  and  affirmeth  that  a 
man  needeth  but  to  believe  himself  a  hero  to  be  one 
of  the  worthiest.  'Let  him,'  saith  he,  'but  fancy 
himself  capable  of  the  highest  things,  and  he  will  of 
course  be  able  to  achieve  them.'  From  this  principle 
it  follows,  that  nothing  can  exceed  our  hero's  prow 
ess,  as  nothing  ever  equalled  the  greatness  of  his  con 
ceptions.  Hear  how  he  constantly  paragons  himself; 
at  one  time  to  Alexander  the  Great  and  Charles  XII. 
of  Sweden,  for  the  excess  and  delicacy  of  his  am 
bition  ;2  to  Henry  IV.  of  France,  for  honest  policy ;' 
to  the  first  Brutus,  for  love  of  liberty  ;4  and  to  sir 
Robert  Walpole,  for  good  government  while  in  pow 
er:5  at  another  time,  to  the  godlike  Socrates,  for  his 
diversions  and  amusements  ;6  to  Horace,  Montaigne, 
and  sir  William  Temple,  for  an  elegant  vanity  that 

1  See  Life,  p.  148.  2  p.  149.  3  p.  424. 

4  p.  366.  5  p.  457.  6  p.  18. 


182          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

maketh  them  for  ever  read  and  admired  :!  to  two  lord 
chancellors,  for  law,  from  whom,  when  confederate 
against  him,  at  the  bar,  he  carried  away  the  prize  of 
eloquence  ;2  and,  to  say  all  in  a  word,  to  the  right 
reverend  the  lord  bishop  of  London  himself,  in  the 
art  of  writing  pastoral  letters.3 

Nor  did  his  actions  fall  short  of  the  sublimity  of  his 
conceit.  In  his  early  youth  he  met  the  Revolution4 
face  to  face  in  Nottingham,  at  a  time  when  his  bet 
ters  contented  themselves  with  following  her.  It 
was  here  he  got  acquainted  with  Old  Battle-array,  of 
whom  he  hath  made  so  honourable  mention  in  one 
of  his  immortal  odes.  But  he  shone  in  courts  as  well 
as  in  camps ;  he  was  called  up  when  the  nation  fell 
in  labour  of  this  Revolution  ;5  and  was  a  gossip  at  her 
christening,  with  the  bishop  and  the  ladies.6 

As  to  his  birth,  it  is  true  he  pretendeth  no  relation 
either  to  heathen  god  or  goddess ;  but,  what  is  as 
good,  he  was  descended  from  a  maker  of  both.7  And 
that  he  did  not  pass  himself  on  the  world  for  a  hero, 
as  well  by  birth  as  education,  was  his  own  fault :  for 
his  lineage  he  bringeth  into  his  life  as  an  anecdote, 
and  is  sensible  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  be  thought 
nobody's  son  at  all  :8  and  what  is  that  but  coming  into 
the  world  a  hero  ? 

But  be  it  (the  punctilious  laws  of  epic  poesy  so  re 
quiring)  that  a  hero  of  more  than  mortal  birth  must 
needs  be  had ;  even  for  this  we  have  a  remedy.  We 
can  easily  derive  our  hero's  pedigree  from  a  goddess 
of  no  small  power  and  authority  amongst  men  ;  and 
legitimate  and  instal  him  after  the  right  classical  and 
authentic  fashion  :  for,  like  as  the  ancient  sages  found 
a  son  of  Mars  in  a  mighty  warrior;  a  son  of  Neptune 
in  a  skilful  seaman ;  a  son  of  Phoebus  in  a  harmonious 
poet ;  so  have  we  here,  if  need  be,  a  son  of  Fortune 


1  See  Life,  p.  425.      2  p.  436,  437.      3  p.  52.      4  p.  47. 
5  p.  57.        0  p.  58,  59.      7  A  statuary.       8  Life,  p.  (5 


THE  DUNCiAD.  18S 

in  an  artful  gamester.  And  who  fitter  than  the  off 
spring  of  Chance,  to  assist  in  restoring  the  empire  of 
Night  and  Chaos  ? 

There  is,  in  truth,  another  objection  of  greater 
weight,  namely,  '  That  this  hero  still  existeth,  and 
hath  not  yet  finished  his  earthly  course  For  if  So 

Ion  said  well, 

'  ultima  semper 

Expectanda  dies  homini :  dicique  bcatus 
Ante  obitum  nemo  suprcmaque  funera  debet  !' 

f  no  man  be  called  happy  till  his  death,  surely  much 
less  can  any  one,  till  then,  be  pronounced  a  hero :  this 
species  of  men  being  far  more  subject  than  others  to 
the  caprices  of  fortune  and  humour.'  But  to  this  also 
we  have  an  answer,  that  will  (we  hope)  be  deemed 
decisive.  It  cometh  from  himself;  who,  to  cut  this 
matter  short,  hath  solemnly  protested  that  he  will 
never  change  or  amend. 

With  regard  to  his  vanity,  he  declareth  that  nothing 
shall  ever  part  them.  '  Nature,'  said  he,  'hath  amply 
supplied  me  in  vanity;  a  pleasure  which  neither  the 
pertness  of  wit,  nor  the  gravity  of  wisdom,  will  ever 
persuade  me  to  part  with.'1  Our  poet  had  charitably 
endeavoured  to  administer  a  cure  to  it :  but  he  telleth 
us  plainly,  '  My  superiors  perhaps  may  be  mended  by 
him  ;  but  for  my  part  I  own  myself  incorrigible.  I 
took  upon  my  follies  as  the  best  part  of  my  fortune.'2 
And  with  good  reason ;  we  see  to  what  they  have 
brought  him  ! 

Secondly;  as  to  buffoonery.  'Is  it,'  saith  he,  'a 
time  of  day  for  me  to  leave  off  these  fooleries,  and 
set  up  a  new  character?  I  can  no  more  put  off  my 
follies  than  my  skin ;  I  have  often  tried,  but  they  stick 
too  close  to  me  :  nor  am  I  sure  my  friends  are  dis- 
oleased  wkh  them,  for  in  this  light  I  afford  them  fre 
quent  matter  of  mirth,  &c.  &c.'3  Having  then  so 

1  See  Life,  p.  424.  2  p.  19.  3  p.  17. 


184          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

publicly  declared  himself  incorrigible,  he  is  become 
dead  in  law  (I  mean  the  law  epopoeian)  and  devolv- 
eth  upon  the  poet  as  his  property  ;  who  may  take 
him,  and  deal  with  him  as  if  he  had  been  dead  as  long 
as  an  old  Egyptian  hero  :  that  is  to  say,  embowel  and 
embalm  him  for  posterity. 

Nothing,  therefore  (we  conceive)  remaineth  to  hin 
der  his  own  prophecy  of  himself  from  taking  imme 
diate  effect.  A  rare  felicity !  and  what  few  prophets 
have  had  the  satisfaction  to  see,  alive  !  Nor  can  we 
conclude  better  than  with  that  extraordinary  one  of 
his,  which  is  conceived  in  these  oraculous  words, 
'my  dulness  will  find  somebody  to  do  it  right.'1 
Tandem  Phoebus  adest,  morsusque  inferre  parantem 
Congelat,  et  patulos,  ut  erant,  indurat  hiatus.'2 


BY  AUTHORITY. 

By  virtue  of  the  authority  in  us  vested  by  the  act 
for  subjecting  poets  to  the  power  of  a  licenser,  we 
have  revised  this  piece  ;  where,  finding  the  style  and 
appe  lation  of  King  to  have  been  given  to  a  certain 
pretender,  pseudo-poet,  or  phantom,  of  the  name  of 
Tibbald  ;  and  apprehending  the  same  maybe  deemed 
in  some  sort  a  reflection  on  majesty,  or  at  least  an  in 
sult  on  that  legal  authority  which  has  bestowed  on 
another  person  the  crown  of  poesy.  We  have  ordered 
the  said  pretender,  pseudo-poet,  or  phantom,  utterly 
to  vanish  and  evaporate  out  of  this  work;  and  do 
declare  the  said  throne  of  poesy  from  henceforth  to 
be  abdicated  and  vacant,  unless  duly  and  lawfully 
supplied  by  the  laureate  himself.  And  it  is  hereby 
enacted  that  no  other  person  do  presume  to  fill  the 
same. 

CC.  CH. 

1  See  Life,  p.  243,  8vo.  edit. 

2  Ovid,  of  the  serpent  biting  at  Orpheus's  head. 


(  185  ) 
THE  DUNCIAD. 

TO    DR.    JONATHAN    SWIFT. 


BOOK  THE  FIRST. 

ARGUMENT. 

The  proposition,  the  invocation,  and  the  inscription. 
Then  the  original  of  the  great  empire  of  Dulness,  and 
cause  of  the  continuance  thereof.  The  college  of  the 
goddess  in  the  city,  with  her  private  academy  for  poets 
in  particular:  the  governors  of  it,  and  the  four  cardi 
nal  virtues.  Then  the  poem  hastes  into  the  midst  of 
things,  presenting  her,  on  the  evening  of  a  lord-mayor's 
day,  revolving  the  long  succession  of  her  sons,  and  the 
glory  past  and  to  come.  She  fixes  her  eyes  on  Bays  to 
be  the  instrument  of  that  great  event  which  is  the 
subject  of  the  poem.  He  is  described  pensive  among 
his  books,  giving  up  the  cause,  an<1  apprehending  the 
period  of  her  empire.  After  debating  whether  to  be 
take  himself  to  the  church,  or  to  gaming,  or  to  party- 
writing,  he  raises  an  altar  of  proper  books,  and  (mak 
ing  first  his  solemn  prayer  and  declaration)  purposes 
thereon  to  sacrifice  all  his  unsuccessful  writings.  As 
the  pile  is  kindled,  the  goddess  beholding  the  flame 
from  her  seat,  flies  and  puts  it  out,  by  casting  upon  it 
the  poem  of  Thul;;.  She  forthwith  reveals  herself  to 
him,  transports  him  to  her  temple,  unfolds  her  arts, 
and  initiates  him  into  her  mysteries ;  then  announcing 
the  death  of  Eusden,  the  poet  laureate,  anoints  him, 
carries  him  to  court,  and  proclaims  him  successor. 

THE  mighty  mother,  and  her  son,  who  brings 
The  Srnithfield  muses  to  the  ear  of  kings, 
I  sing.     Say  you,  her  instruments,  the  great ! 
Call'd  to  this  work  by  Dulness,  Jove,  and  Fate  ; 

REMARKS 

The  Dunciad,  sic  MS.]     It  may  well  be  disputed  whe 
ther  this  be  a  right  reading.    Ought  it  not  rutlicr  be  spelled 
Otinceiad,  ;is  the  etymology  evidently   demands'"   Dunce 
VOL.  Tl.  ]3 


186          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

STou,  by  whose  care,  in  vain  decried  and  cursed, 
Still  Dunce  the  second  reigns  like  Dunce  the  first ; 

REMARKS. 

with  an  e,  therefore  Dunceiad  with  an  e.  That  accurata 
and  punctual  man  of  letters,  the  restorer  of  Shakespear 
constantly  observes  the  preservation  of  this  very  letter  e, 
in  spelling  the  name  of  his  beloved  author,  and  not  like  his 
common  careless  editors,  with  the  omission  of  one,  nay, 
sometimes  of  two  ce's  (as  Shakspear,)  which  is  utterly  un 
pardonable.  '  Nor  is  ihe  neglect  of  a  single  letter  so  trivia 
as  to  some  it  may  appear ;  the  alteration  whereof  in  a  learn 
ed  language  is  an  achievement  that  brings  honour  to  ilie  • 
critic  who  advances  it ;  and  Dr.  Bentley  will  be  remembered 
to  posterity  for  his  performances  of  this  sort,  as  long  as  tho 
world  shall  have  any  esteem  for  the  remains  of  Menander 
and  Philemon.'  Theobald. 

This  is  surely  a  slip  in  the  learned  author  of  the  foregoing 
note  ;  there  having  been  since  produced  by  an  accurate  an 
tiquary,  an  autograph  of  Shakespeare  himself,  whereby  it 
appears  that  he  spelled  his  own  name  without  the  first  e. 
And  upon  this  authority  it  was,  that  those  most  critical 
curators  of  his  monument  in  Westminster  Abbey  erased  Ihe 
former  wrong  reading,  and  restored  the  true  spelling  on  a 
new  piece  of  old  .^Egyptian  granite.  Nor  for  this  only  do 
they  deserve  our  thanks,  hut  for  exhibiting  on  the  same 
monument  tho  first  specimen  of  an  edition  of  an  author  in 
murhle;  where  (as  may  be  seen  on  comparing  the  tomb  with 
the  book)  in  the  space  of  five  lines,  two  words  and  :i  whole 
verse  are  changed,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  will  there  stand, 
and  outlast  whatever  hath  been  hitherlo  done  in  paper;  as 
for  the  future,  our  learned  sister  university  (the  other  eyo 
of  England)  is  taking  care  to  perpetuate  a  total  new  Shake 
speare  tit.  the  Clarendon  press.  Bcnll. 

It  is  to  bo  noted  that  this  great  critic  also  has  omitted  ohe 
circumstance;  which  is,  that  the  inscription  with  the  name 
of  Shakespeare  was  intended  to  1)0  placed  on  the  marble 
scroll  to  which  he  points  with  his  hand  ;  instead  of  which  it 
is  now  placed  behind  his  back,  and  that  specimen  of  an 
edition  is  put  on  the  scroll,  which  indeed  Shakespeare  hath 
great  reason  to  point  at.  Anon. 

Though  I  have  as  just  a  value  for  tho  letter  E,  as  any 
grammarian  living,  and  (he  same  affection  for  Ihe  i,arno  of 
this  poem  as  any  critic  for  that  of  his  author ;  yet  ca.inot  it 
induce  me  to  agree  with  those  who  would  a  Id  yet  unoihrtr 
o  to  it,  and  call  it  the  Dunceiade:  which  being  a  French 
and  foreign  termination,  is  no  way  proper  to  a  word  entirely 
English,  and  vernacular.  One  e  therefore  in  this  ciso  is 
right,  and  two  ec's  wrong.  Yet  upon  the  whole,  I  ehall  fol 
low  the  manuscript,  and  print  it  without  any  e  at  all ;  moved 


THE  DUNCIAD.  187 

Say,  how  the  goddess  bade  Britannia  sleep, 
And  pour'd  her  spirit  o'er  the  land  and  deep. 


REMARKS. 

thereto  by  authority  (at  all  times,  with  critics,  equal,  if  not 
superior  to  reason.)  In  which  method  of  proceeding,  lean 
.lever  enough  praise  my  good  friend  the  exuct  Mr.  Thomas 
Hearne ;  who,  if  any  word  occur,  which  to  him  and  all 
mankind  is  evidently  wrong,  yet  keeps  he  it  in  the  text  with 
due  reverence,  and  only  remarks  in  the  margin,  Sic  MS.  In 
like  manner  we  shall  not  amend  this  error  in  the  title  itself, 
but  only  note  it  obiter,  to  evince  to  the  learned  that  it  was 
not  our  fault,  nor  any  effect  of  our  ignorance  or  inattention. 

Hcribl. 

This  poem  was  written  in  the  year  1726.  In  the  next 
year  an  imperfect  edition  was  published  at  Dublin,  and  re 
printed  at  London  in  twelves;  another  at  Dublin,  and 
another  at  London,  in  octavo ;  and  three  others  in  twelves 
the  same  year.  But  there  was  no  perfect  edition  before 
that  of  London,  in  quarto ;  which  was  attended  with  notes. 
\Ve  are  willing  to  acquaint  posterity,  that  this  poem  was 
presented  to  King  George  the  Second  and  his  queen,  by  the 
hands  of  Sir  Robert  Wiilpole,  on  the  12th  of  March,  1728  9. 

Scliol.  Vet. 

It  was  expressly  confessed  in  the  preface  to  the  first 
•jdition,  that  this  poem  was  not  published  by  the  author  him 
self.  It  was  printed  originally  in  a  foreign  country:  and 
what  foreign  country  1  Why,  one  notorious  for  blunders; 
where  finding  blanks  only  instead  of  proper  names,  these 
blunderers  filled  them  up  at  their  pleasure. 

The  very  hero  of  the  poem  hath  been  mistaken  to  this 
hour ;  so  that  we  were  obliged  to  open  our  notes  with  a  dis 
covery  who  he  really  was.  We  learn  from  the  former  editor, 
that  this  piece  was  presented  by  the  hands  of  sir  Robert 
Walpole  to  King  George  II.  Now  the  author  directly  tells 
us,  his  hero  is  the  man 

who  brings 

The  Smithfield  muses  to  the  ear  of  kings. 

And  it  is  notorious  who  was  the  person  on  whom  this 
prince  conferred  the  honour  of  the  laurel. 

It  appears  as  plainly  from  the  apostrophe  to  the  great  in 
the  third  verse,  that  Tibbald  Tould  not  be  the  person,  who 
was  never  an  author  in  fashion,  or  caressed  by  the  great ; 
whereas  this  single  characteristic  is  sufficient  to  point  out 
the  true  hero:  who,  above  all  other  poets  of  his  time,  was 
the  peculiar  delight  and  chosen  companion  of  the  nobility 
of  England  ;  and  wrote,  as  he  himself  teHs  us,  certain  of  his 
works  at  the  earnest  desire  of  person?  of  quality. 

Lcstly,  the  sixth  verse  affords  full  proof;  this  poet  being 


188         i  OPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

In  eldest  time,  ere  mortals  writ  or  read, 
Ere  Pallas  issued  from  the  Thunderer's  head,         10 
Dulness  o'er  all  possess'd  her  ancient  right, 
Daughter  of  Chaos  and  eternal  Night : 
Fate  in  their  dotage  this  fair  idiot  gave, 
Gross  as  her  sire,  and  as  her  mother  grave, 
Laborious,  heavy,  busy,  bold,  and  blind, 
She  ruled,  in  native  anarchy,  the  mind. 

REMARKS. 

the  only  one  who  was  universally  known  to  have  had  a  son 
so  exactly  like  him,  in  his  poetical,  theatrical,  political,  and 
moral  capacities,  that  it  could  justly  be  said  of  him, 

'Still  Dunce  the  second  reigns  like  Dunce  the  first.' 

Bentl. 

Ver.  I.  The  mighty  mother,  and  her  son,  &c.j  The 
reader  ought  here  to  be  cautioned,  that  the  mother,  and  not 
the  son,  is  the  principal  agent  of  this  poem,  the  latter  of 
them  is  only  chosen  as  her  colleague  (as  was  anciently  the 
custom  in  Rome  before  some  great  expedition,)  the  main 
action  of  the  poem  being  by  no  moans  the  coronation  of  the 
laureate,  which  is  performed  in  the  very  first  book,  but  the 
restoration  of  the  empire  of  Dulness  in  Britain,  which  is  not 
accomplished  till  the  last. 

Ver.  2.  The  SmithfieUl  Muses.]  Smithfield  is  the  place 
where  Bartholomew  fair  was  kept,  whose  shows,  machines, 
and  dramatical  entertainments,  formerly  agreeable  only  to 
the  taste  of  the  rabble,  were  by  the  hero  of  this  poem,  and 
others  of  equal  genius,  brought  to  the  theatres  of  Covent- 
garden,  Lincoln's  inn-fields,  and  the  Hay-market,  to  be  the 
reigning  pleasures  of  the  court  and  town.  This  happened 
in  the  reigns  of  King  George  I.  and  II.  See  Book  iii. 

Ver.  4.  By  Dulness,  Jove,  and  Fate  :J  i.  e.  by  their  judg 
ments,  their  interests,  and  their  inclinations. 

Ver.  15.  Laborious,  heavy,  busy,  bold,  &c.]  I  wonder 
the  learned  Scriblerus  has  omitted  to  advertise  the  reader, 
at  the  opening  of  this  poem,  that  Dulness  here  is  not  to  bo 
taken  contractedly  for  mere  stupidity,  but  in  the  enlarged 
sense  of  the  word,  for  all  slowness  of  apprehension,  short 
ness  of  sight,  or  imperfect  sSnse  of  things.  It  includes  (a3 
we  see  by  the  poet's  own  words)  labour,  industry,  and  some 
degrees  of  activity  and  boldness;  a  ruling  principle  not 
inert,  but  turning  topsy-turvy  the  understanding,  and  indu 
cing  an  anarchy  or  confused  state  of  mind.  This  remark 
ought  to  be  carried  along  with  the  reader  throughout  the 
work  ;  and  without  this  caution  he  will  be  apt  to  mistake 
the  importance  of  many  of  the  characters,  as  well  as  of  tha 


THE  DUNCIAD.  189 

Still  her  old  empire  to  restore  she  tries, 
For,  born  a  goddess,  Dulness  never  dies. 

Oh  thou  !  whatever  title  please  thine  ear — 
Dean,  Drapier,  Bickerstaff,  or  Gulliver  !  20 

Whether  thou  choose  Cervantes'  serious  air, 
Or  laugh  and  shake  in  Rabelais'  easy  chair, 
Or  praise  the  court,  or  magnify  mankind, 
Or  thy  grieved  country's  copper  chains  unbind, 
From  thy  Bojotia  though  her  power  retires, 
Mourn  not,  my  Swift,  at  aught  our  realm  acquires. 
Here  pleased  behold  her  mighty  wings  outspread 
To  hatch  a  new  Saturnian  age  of  lead. 

Close  to  those  walls  where  Folly  holds  her  throne, 
And  laughs  to  think  Monroe  would  take  her  down,    30 
Where  o'er  the  gates,  by  his  famed  father's  hand, 
Great  Gibber's  brazen,  brainless  brothers  stand ; 

REMARKS. 

design  of  the  poet.  Hence  it  is  tliat  some  have  complained 
he  chooses  too  mean  u  subject,  and  imagined  he  employs 
himself  like  Domitian,  in  killing  flies  ;  whereas  those  who 
have  the  true  key  will  find  he  sports  with  nobler  quarry,  and 
embraces  a  larger  compass  ;  or  (as  one  saith  on  a  like  oc 
casion,) 

'  Will  see  his  work,  like  Jacob's  ladder  rise, 

Its  fool  in  dirt,  its  head  amid  the  skies.'         Bentl. 

Ver.  17.  Still  her  old  empire  to  restore.]  This  restoration 
makes  the  completion  of  the  poem.  Vide  Book  iv. 

Ver.  22.  Laugh  and  shake  in  Rabelais'  easy  chair.]  The 
imagery  is  exquisite  ;  and  the  equivoque  in  the  last  words, 
gives  a  peculiar  elegance  to  the  whole  expression.  The 
easy  chair  suits  his  age :  Rabelais'  easy  chair  marks  his  cha 
racter  ;  and  he  filled  and  possessed  it  as  the  right  heir  and 
successor  of  that  original  genius. 

Ver.  23.  Or  praise  the  court,  or  magnify  mankind.] 
Ironicc,  alluding  to  Gulliver's  representations  of  both  The 
next  line  relates  to  the  papers  of  the  Draper  against  the  cur 
rency  of  Wood's  copper  coin  in  Ireland,  which,  upon  the 
great  discontent  of  the  people,  his  majesty  was  most  gra- 
eiously  pleased  to  recall. 

Ver.  26'.  Mourn  not,  my  Swift,  at  aught  our  realm  ac 
quires.]  Ironice  iterum.  The  politics  of  England  and  Ire 
land  were  at  this  time  by  some  thought  to  be  opposite,  ol 
fnterfering  with  each  other.  Dr.  Swift  of  course  was  in  the 
interest  of  the  latter,  our  author  of  the  former. 

Ver.  31.  By  his  famed  father's  hand.]    Mr.  Caius  GabrieJ 


190          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

One  cell  there  is,  conceal'd  from  vulgar  eye, 

The  cave  of  poverty  and  poetry. 

Keen,  hollow  winds  howl  through  the  bleak  recesi. 

Emblem  of  music  caused  by  emptiness. 

Hence  bards,  like  Proteus,  long  in  vain  tied  down, 

Escape  in  monsters,  and  amaze  the  town 

Hence  Miscellanies  spring,  the  weekly  boast 

Of  Curll's  chaste  press,  and  Lintot's  rubric  post :     40 

Hence  hymning  Tyburn's  elegiac  lines, 

Hence  journals,  medleys,  Mercuries,  magazines, 

Sepulchral  lies,  our  holy  walls  to  grace, 

And  new-year  odes,  and  all  the  Grub-street  race. 

REMARKS. 

Gibber,  father  of  the  poet-laureate.  The  two  statues  of 
the  lunatics  over  the  gates  of  Bedlam-hospital  were  done  hy 
him,  and  (us  the  son  justly  says  of  them)  are  no  ill  monu 
ments  of  his  fame  as  an  artist. 

Ver.  34.  Poverty  and  poetry.]  1  cannot  here  omit  a  re 
mark  that  will  greatly  endear  our  author  to  every  one,  who 
shall  attentively  observe  that  humanity  and  cnndour,  which 
every  where  appears  in  him  towards  those  unhappy  objects 
of  the  ridicule  of  all  mankind,  the  bad  poets.  He  there  im 
putes  all  scandalous  rhymes,  scurrilous  weekly  papers,  base 
flatteries,  wretched  elegies,  songs,  and  verses  (even  frnm 
those  sung  at  court,  to  ballads  in  the  street,)  not  so  much  to 
malice  or  servility  as  to  dulness,  and  not  so  much  to  dulness 
as  to  necessity.  And  thus,  at  the  very  commencement  of 
his  sutire,  makes  an  apology  for  all  that  are  to  be  satirized. 

Ver.  40.  Curll's  chaste  press,  and  Lintot's  rubric  post:] 
Two  booksellers,  of  whom  see  Book  ii.  The  former  was 
fined  by  the  Court  of  King's  Bench  for  publishing  obscene 
books  ;  the  latter  usually  adorned  his  shop  with  titles  in  red 
letters. 

Ver.  41.  Hence  hymning  Tyburn's  elegiac  lines.]  It  is  an 
ancient  English  custom  for  the  malefactors  to  sing  a  psalm 
at  their  execution  at  Tyburn  ;  and  no  less  customary  to 
print  elegies  on  their  deaths,  at  the  same  limp,  or  before. 

Ver.  4!i.  Sepulchral  lies,]  is  a  just  satire  on  the  flatteries 
and  falsehoods  admitted  to  be  inscribed  on  the  walla  of 
churches,  in  epitaphs ;  which  occasioned  the  following 
?pigram  : 

'Friend  !  in  your  epitaphs,  I'm  grieved 

So  very  much  is  said  ; 
One  half  will  never  be  believed, 
The  other  never  read.' 

Ver.  44.      New-year  odes.]     Made  by  the  poet-Is ureato 


THE  DUNCIAD.  19 

In  clouded  majesty  here  Dulness  shone ; 
Four  guardian  virtues,  round,  support  her  throne : 
Fierce  champion  Fortitude,  that  knows  no  fears 
Of  hisses,  blows,  or  want,  or  loss  of  ears  : 
Calm  Temperance,  whose  blessings  those  partake, 
Who  hunger  and  who  thirst  for  scribbling'  sake  :    50 
Prudence,  whose  glass  presents  the  approaching  jail: 
Poetic  Justice,  with  her  lifted  scale, 
Where,  in  nice  balance,  truth  with  gold  she  weighs, 
And  solid  pudding  against  empty  praise. 

Here  she  beholds  the  chaos  dark  and  deep, 
Where  nameless  somethings  in  their  causes  sleep, 
Till  genial  Jacob,  on  a  warm  third  day, 
Calls  forth  each  mass,  a  poem  or  a  play  : 
How  hints,  like  spawn,  scarce  quick  in  embryo  lie  ; 
How  new-born  nonsense  first  is  taught  to  cry.        60 
Maggots,  half-ibrm'd,  in  rhyme  exactly  meet, 
And  learn  to  ciawl  upon  poetic  feet : 
Here  one  poor  word  a  hundred  clenches  makes, 
And  ductile  Dulness  new  meanders  takes , 
There  motley  images  her  fancy  strike, 
Figures  ill-pair'd,  and  similes  unlike. 
She  sees  a  mob  of  metaphors  advance, 
Pleased  with  the  madness  of  the  mazy  dance ; 

REMARKS. 

for  the  time  being,  to  be  sung  at  court  on  every  new-year's 
day,  the  words  of  which  are  happily  drowned  in  the  voices 
and  instruments.  The  new-year  odes  of  the  hero  of  thin 
work  were  of  a  cast  distinguished  from  all  that  preceded 
him,  and  made  n  conspicuous  part  of  his  character  as  a 
writer,  which  doubtless  induced  our  author  to  mention  them 
here  so  particularly. 

Ver.  45.  In  clouded  majesty  here  Dulness  shone.]  See 
this  cloud  removed  or  rolled  back,  or  gathered  up  to  her 
head,  Book  iv.  ver.  17,  1H.  It  is  worth  while  to  compare 
his  description  of  the  majesty  of  Dulness  in  a  state  of  peaco 
and  tranquillity,  with  that  more  busy  scene  where  she 
mounts  the  throne  in  triumph,  and  is  not  so  much  supported 
by  her  own  virtues,  as  by  the  princely  consciousness  of  ha 
iring  destroyed  all  other. 

Ver.  57.  Genial  Jacob]  Tonson.  The  famous  race  of 
booksellers  of  that  name. 


192         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

How  tragedy  and  comedy  embrace ; 
How  farce  and  epic  get  a  jumbled  race  ;  70 

How  Time  himself  stands  still  at  her  command, 
Realms  shift  their  place,  and  ocean  turns  to  land ; 
Here  gay  description  Egypt  glads  with  showers  ; 
Or  gives  to  Zembla  fruits,  to  Barca  flowers  ; 
Glittering  with  ice  here  hoary  hills  are  seen, 
There  painted  valleys  of  eternal  green, 
In  cold  December  fragrant  chaplets  blow, 
And  heavy  harvests  nod  beneath  the  snow. 

All  these,  and  more,  the  cloud-compelling  queen 
Beholds  through  fogs,  that  magnify  the  scene.         80 
She,  tinsel'd  o'er  in  robes  of  varying  hues, 
With  self-applause  her  wild  creation  views  ; 
Sees  momentary  monsters  rise  and  fall, 
And  with  her  own  fools'  colours  gilds  them  all. 

'Twas  on  the  day,  when  *  *  rich  and  grave, 
Like  Cimon  triumph'd  both  on  land  and  wave  : 
I  Pomps  without  guilt,  of  bloodless  swords  and  maces, 
Glad  chains,  warm  furs,  broad  banners,  and  broad 

faces,) 

Now  night  descending,  the  proud  scene  was  o'er, 
But  lived  in  Settle's  numbers,  one  day  more.          90 
Now  mayors  and  shrieves  all  hush'd  and  satiate  lay, 
Yet  eat,  in  dreams,  the  custard  of  the  day ; 
While  pensive  poets  painful  vigils  keep, 
Sleepless  themselves,  to  give  their  readers  sleep 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  85,  83.  'Twas  on  the  day,  when  *  *  rich  and  grave 
-Like  Cimon  triumph'd]  Viz.  a  lord  mayor's  day;  his 
name  the  author  had  left  in  blanks,  but  most  certainly  could 
never  be  that  which  the  editor  foisted  in  formerly,  and 
which  no  way  agrees  with  the  chronology  of  the  poem. 

Bentl. 

The  procession  of  a  lord  mayor  is  made  partly  by  land 
and  partly  by  water.  Cimon,  the  famous  Athenian  general, 
obtained  a  victory  by  sea,  and  another  by  land  On  llio  same 
day,  over  the  Pers;ans  and  Barbarians. 

Ver.  90.  But  lived,  in  Settle's  numbers,  one  day  more 
A  beautiful  manno  of  speaking,  usual  with  poets,  in  jiruK 
of  poetry. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  193 

Much  to  the  mindful  queen  the  feast  recalls 

What  city  swans  once  sung  within  the  walls  ; 

Much  she  revolves  their  arts,  their  ancient  praise, 

And  sure  succession  down  from  Hey  wood's  days, 

She  saw  with  joy,  the  line  immortal  run, 

Each  sire  imprest  and  glaring  in  his  son  :  100 

So  watchful  Bruin  forms,  with  plastic  care, 

Each  growing  lump,  and  brings  it  to  a  bear. 

She  saw  old  Pryn  in  restless  Daniel  shine, 

And  Eusden  eke  out  Blackmore's  endless  line  : 

REMARKS. 

Ibid.  Rut  lived,  in  Settle's  numbers,  one  day  mure.]  Set 
tle  WHS  poet  to  Ihecity  of  London.  His  office  was  to  coin- 
pose  yearly  panegyrics  upon  the  lord  mayors,  and  verses  lo 
bo  spoken  in  the  pageants  :  but  that  part  of  the  shows  being 
at  length  frugally  abolished,  the  employment  of  City-poet 
ceased  ;  so  that  upon  Settle's  demise,  there  was  no  successor 
lo  that  place. 

Ver.  !)8.  John  Ileywoorl,  whose  interludes  were  printed 
in  the  time  offlenry  VIII. 

Ver.  103.  Old  Pryn  in  restless  Daniel.]  The  first  edition 
liacl  it, 

1  She  saw  iu  Norton  ull  las  father  shine  :' 
a  great  mistake  !  for  Daniel  <le  Foe  had  parts,  but  Norton 
do  Foe  was  a  wretched  writer,  and  never  attempted  poetry. 
Much  more  justly  is  Daniel  himself,  made  successor  to  VV. 
1'ryn,  both  of  whom  wrote  vert>es  as  well  as  Politics;  as  ap 
pears  by  the  poem  da  Jure  Diuino,  &c.  of  Do  Foe,  and  by 
some  lines  in  Cowley's  Miscellanies  on  the  other.  And 
both  these  authors  had  a  resemblance  in  their  fates  as  well 
as  their  writings,  having  been  alike  sentenced  to  the  pillory. 

Ver.  104.  And  Kusden  oko  out,  &c.]  Lawrence  Kusden, 
poet  laureate.  Mr.  Jacob  gives  a  catalogue  of  some  few 
only  of  his  works,  which  were  very  numerous.  Mr.  Cooko, 
in  his  Battle  of  Poets,  saith  of  him. 

1  Eusden,  a  laurel'd  bard  by  fortune  rais'd, 
By  vury  few  was  read,  by  fewer  praised.' 
Mr.  Oldmixon,  in  his  Arts  of  Logic  and  Rhetoric,  p.  413, 
414,  affirms, '  That  of  all  the  Galimatias  he  ever  met  with, 
none  comes  up  to  sumo  verses  of  this  poet,  which  have  as 
much  of  the  ridicu'um  and  the  fustian  in   them  as  can  well 
be  jumbled  together,  and  arc  of  that  sort  of  nonsense,  which 
so  perfectly  confounds  all  ideas,  that  there  is  no  distinct  one 
left  in  the  mind.'     Further  he  says  of  him, 'That  he  hath 
prophesied  his  own  poetry  shull  be  sweeter  than  Catullus, 


194 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


She  saw  slow  Phillips  creep  like  Tale's  poor  page 
And  all  the  mighty  mad  in  Dennis  rage. 


Ovid,  and  Tibullus:  but  we  have  little  hope  of  the  accoin 
plishment  of'it,  from  what  he  hath  lately  published.'     Upon 
which  Mr.  Oldmixon  has  not  spared  a  reflection,  'That 
the  putting  the  laurel  on   the  head  of  one  who  writ  such 
verses,  will  give  futurity  a  very  lively  idea  of  the  judgment 
and  justice  of  those  who  bestowed  it.'     Ibid.  p.  417.     But 
the  well-known  learning  of  that  noble  person,  who  was  then 
lord  chamberlain,  might  have  screened  him   from  this  un 
mannerly  reflection.  Nor  ought  Mr.  Oldmixon  to  complain, 
80  long  after,  that  the  laurel  would  have  better  become  his 
nwn  brows,  or  any  other's :  it  were  more  decent  to  acquiesce 
in  the  opinion  of  the  duke  of  Buckingham  upon  this  matter  : 
' — In  rush'd  Eusden,  and  cried  who  shall  have  it, 
But  I  the  true  laureate,  to  whom  the  king  gave  if!' 
Apollo  begg'd  pardon,  and  granted  his  claim, 
But  vow'd  that  till  then  he  ne'er  heard  of  his  name." 
Session  of  Poets. 

The  same  plea  might  also  serve  for  his  successor,  Mr.  Cib- 
ber:  and  is  further  strengthened  in  the  following  epigram 
made  on  that  occasion  : 

'  In  merry  Old  England  it  once  was  a  rule 
The  king  had  his  poet,  and  also  his  fool ; 
But  now  we're  so  frugal,  I'd  have  you  to  know  it, 
That  Gibber  can  serve  both  for  fool  and  for  poet.' 
Of  Blackmore,  see  Book  ii.  Of  Phillips,  Book  i.  ver.  262, 
and  Book  iii.  propcfin. 

Nahum  Tate  was  poet  laureate,  a  cold  writer  of  no  in 
vention  ;  but  sometimes  translated  tolerably  when  befriended 
by  Mr.  Dryden.  In  his  second  part  of  Abiolom  and  Achito- 
phel  are  above  two  hundred  admirable  linos  together,  of 
that  great  hnnd,  which  strongly  shine  through  the  insipidity 
of  the  rest.  Something  parallel  may  be  observed  of  another 
author  here  mentioned. 

Ver.  106.  And  all  the  mighty  mad  in  Dennis  rage.  I  Mr 
Theobald,  in  the  Censor,  vol.  ii.  No.  33,  calls  Mr.  Dennis 
by  the  name  of  Furius.  '  The  modern  Furius  is  to  be  looked 
upon  more  as  an  object  of  pity,  than  of  that  which  he  daily 
provokes,  laughter  and  contempt.  Did  we  really  know 
how  much  this  poor  mun'  [I  wish  that  reflection  on  poverty 
nad  been  spared]  'suffers  by  being  contradicted,  or  which  is 
the  same  thing  in  effect,  by  hearing  another  praised  ;  we 
ehould,  in  compassion  sometimes  attend  to  him  wi'.h  a  silent 
nod,  and  let  him  go  away  with  the  triumphs  of  his  ill-nature. 
— Poor  Furius,  (again)  when  any  of  his  contemporaries  are 
jpoken  well  of,  quitting  the  ground  of  the  present  dispute, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  195 

In  each  she  marks  her  image  full  exprest, 
But  chief  in  Bays's  monster-bleeding  breast: 

REMARKS. 

steps  back  a  thousand  years  to  call  in  the  succour  of  the 
ancients.  His  very  panegyric  is  spiteful,  and  lie  uses  it  for 
the  same  reason  as  some  ladies  do  their  commendation  of  a 
dead  beauty,  who  would  never  have  tlieir  good  word,  but 
that  a  living  one  happened  to  be  mentioned  in  their  com 
pany.  His  applause  is  not  the  tribute  of  his  heart,  but  the 
sacrifice  of  his  revenge,'  &c.  Indeed,  his  pieces  aguiustour 
poet  are  somewhat  of  an  angry  character,  mid  as  they  are 
now  scarce  extant,  a  taste  of  this  slyle  may  l>e  satisfactory 
to  the  curious.  'A  young,  squab,  short  gentleman,  whoM 
jutvvard  form,  though  it  should  b«  that  of  downright 
monkey,  would  not  differ  so  much  from  the  human  shape 
as  his  unthinking  immaterial  part  does  from  human  under 
standing. — He  is  as  stupid  and  as  venomous  as  a  hunch- 
back'd  toad.  A  book  through  which  folly  and  ignorance, 
those  brethren  so  lamo  and  impotent,  do  ridiculously  look 
big  and  very  dull,  and  strut  and  hobble,  cheek  by  jowl, 
with  their  arms  on  kimbo,  being  led  and  supported,  and 
bully-hack'd  by  that  blind  Hector,  Impudence.'  IJerlect.  on 
the  Essay  on  Criticism,  p.  26,  29,  30. 

It  would  be  unjust  not  to  add  his  reasons  for  this  fury, 
they  are  so  strong  and  so  coercive.  '  I  regard  him,'  saith 
he,  'as  an  enemy,  not  so  much  to  me,  as  to  my  king,  to  my 
country,  to  my  religion,  and  to  that  liberty  which  has  been 
the  sole  felicity  of  my  life.  A  vagary  of  fortune,  who  ig 
sometimes  pleased  to  be  frolicsome,  and  the  epidemic  mad 
ness  of  the  times,  have  given  him  reputation,  and  "  reputa 
tion,"  as  Hohhes  says,  "is  power,"  and  that  has  made  him 
dangerous.  Therefore  I  look* on  it  as  my  duty  to  King 
George,  whoso  faithful  subject  I  am;  to  my  country,  of 
which  I  have  appeared  a  constant  lover ;  to  the  laws,  under 
whose  protection  I  have  so  long  lived  ;  and  to  the  liberty  of 
my  country,  more  dear  to  me  than  life,  of  which  I  have  now 
for  forty  years  been  a  constant  asserter,  &c. — I  look  upon  it 
as  my  duty,  I  say,  to  do — you  shall  see  what — to  pull  the 
lion's  skin  from  this  little  ass,  which  popular  error  has 
thrown  around  him;  and  to  show  that  this  author,  who  has 
been  lately  so  much  in  vogue,  has  neither  sense  in  his 
thoughts,  nor  English  in  his  expression.'  Dennis,  Rem.  on 
Horn.  Pref.  p.  2,  91,  &c. 

Besides  these  public-spirited  reasons,  Mr.  D.  had  a  pri 
vate  one;  which,  by  his  manner  of  expressing  it  in  p.  92. 
appears  to  have  been  equally  strong.  He  was  even  in  bodily 
fear  of  his  life,  from  the  machinations  of  the  said  Mr.  P. 
'  The  story,'  says  he,  '  is  too  long  to  be  told,  but  who  would 
bo  acquainted  with  it,  may  hear  it  from  Mr.  Curll,  my  book- 


196          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Bays,  form'd  by  nature  stage  and  town  to  bless, 
And  act,  and  be,  a  coxcomb  with  success.  110 

REMARKS. 

•eller.  However,  what  my  reason  has  suggested  to  me, 
that  1  have  with  a  just  confidence  said,  in  defiance  of  his 
two  clandestine  weapons,  his  slander  and  his  poison." 
Which  last  words  of  his  book  plainly  discover  Mr.  D's  sus 
picion  was  that  of  being  poisoned,  in  like  manner  as  Mr 
Curll  had  been  before  him:  of  which  fact,  see  a  full  and 
true  account  of  the  horrid  and  barbarous  revenge,  by  poison 
on  the  body  of  Edmund  Curll,  printed  in  171G,  the  year  ante 
cedent  to  that  wherein  these  remarks  of  Mr.  Dennis  were 
published.  But  what  puts  it  beyond  all  question,  is  a  pas 
sage  in  a  very  warm  treatise,  in  which  Mr.  I),  was  also 
concerned,  price  two-pence,  called,  A  true  character  of  Mr. 
Pope  and  his  Writings,  printed  for  S.  Popping,  1716;  in  tho 
tenth  page  whereof  he  is  said  'to  have  insulted  people  on 
those  calamities  and  diseases  which  he  himself  gave  them, 
by  administering  poison  to  them ;'  and  is  called  (p.  4.)  a 
'lurking  way-laying  coward,  and  a  slabber  in  the  dark.' 
Which  (with  many  other  things  most  lively  set  forth  in  that 
piece)  must  have  rendered  him  a  terror,  not  to  Mr.  Dennia 
only,  but  to  all  Christian  people.  This  charitable  warning 
only  provoked  our  incorrigible  poet  to  write  the  following 
epigram: 

'  Should  Dennis  publish  you  had  stabb'd  your  brother, 

Lampoon'd  your  monarch,  or  dcbaucliM  your  mother; 

Say,  what  revenge  on  Dennis  can  be  had  ? 

Too  dull  for  laughter,  for  reply  too  mad  : 

On  one  so  poor  you  cannot  take  the  law ; 

On  one  so  old  your  sword  you  scorn  to  draw  ; 

Uncaged  then  let  the  harmless  monster  rage, 

Secure  in  dulness,  madness,  want,  and  age." 

For  the  rest;  Mr.  John  Dennis  was  the  eon  of  u  saddler, 
.n  London,  born  in  1657.  He  paid  court  to  Mr  Dryden ; 
and  having  obtained  some  correspondence  with  Mr.  Wycher- 
ley  and  Mr.  Congreve,  he  immediately  obliged  the  public 
with  their  letters.  He  made  himself  known  to  the  govern 
ment  by  many  admirable  schemes  and  projects,  which  the 
ministry,  for  reasons  best  known  to  themselves,  constantly 
kept  private.  For  his  character  as  a  writer,  it  is  given  us  as 
follows:  'Mr.  Dennis  is  excellent  at  Pindaric  writings,  per 
fectly  regular  in  all  his  performances,  and  a  person  of  sound 
learning.  That  he  is  master  of  a  great  deal  of  penetration 
and  judgment,  his  criticisms  (particularly  on  Prince  Arthur) 
do  sufficiently  demonstrate.'  From  the  same  account  it 
also  appears  that  he  writ  plays  '  more  to  get  reputation  than 
money.'  Dennis  of  himself1.  See  Oilcs  Jacob's  Lives  of 
Dram.  Poets,  p.  (58,  (59,  compared  with  p.  2Hfi. 

Vor.  101).  Bays,  form'd  bv  nature,  &c.j     It  is  hoped  the 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


197 


Dulness  with  transport  eyes  the  lively  dunce, 
Remembering  she  herself  was  pertness  once. 
Now  (shame  to  fortune !)  an  ill  run  at  play 
Blank'd  his  bold  visage,  and  a  thin  third  day  : 
Swearing  and  supperless  the  hero  sat, 
Blasphemed  his  gods,  the  dice,  and  damn'd  his  fate ; 

REMARKS. 

poet  here  li;ith  done  full  justice  to  his  hero's  character 
which  it  were  a  great  mistake  to  imagine  was  wholly  sunk 
in  stupidity;  lie  is  allowed  to  have  supported  it  with  a  won 
derful  mixture  of  vivacity.  This  character  is  heightened  ac 
cording  to  his  own  desire,  in  a  letter  he  wrote  to  our  author : 
'Pert  and  dull  at  least  you  might  have  allowed  mo.  What ! 
am  I  only  to  he  dull,  and  dull  still,  and  again,  and  for  ever  7' 
Ho  then  solemnly  appealed  to  his  own  conscience,  that  '  he 
could  not  think  himself  so,  nor  believe  that  our  poet  did  ; 
but  that  he  spake  worse  of  him  than  he  could  possibly  think; 
and  concluded  it  must  be  merely  to  show  his  wit,  or  for  soma 
profit  or  lucre  to  himself.'  Life  of  C.  C.  chap.  vii.  and  Let 
ter  to  Mr.  P.  page  15,  40,  53.  And  to  show  his  claim  to 
what  the  poet  was  so  unwilling  to  allow  him,  of  being  pert 
as  well  as  dull,  he  declares  he  will  have  the  last  word ;  which 
occasioned  the  following  epigram: 

Quoth  Gibber  to  Pope,  "Though  in  verse  you  foreclose, 
I'll  have  the  last  word ;  for,  by  G — ,  I'll  write  prose." 
Poor  Colly,  thy  reasoning  is  none  of  the  strongest, 
For  know,  the  last  word  is  the  word  that  lasts  longest. 
Ver.  115.     Supperless  the  hero  sat.]     It  is  amazing  how 
the  sense  of  this  halh  been  mistaken  by  all  the  former  com 
mentators,  who  most  idly  suppose  it  to  imply,  that  the  hero 
of  the  poem  wanted  a  supper.     In  truth,  a  great  absurdity. 
Not  that  we  are  ignorant  that  the  hero  of  Homer's  Odyssey 
is  frequently  in  that  circumstance,  and,  therefore,  it  can  no 
way  derogate  from  thn  grandeur  of  epic  poem  to  represent 
such  hero  under  a  calamity,  to  which  the  greatest,  not  only 
of  critics  and  poets,  but  of  kings  and  warriors,  have  been 
subject.     But  much  more  refined,  I  will  venture  to  say,  is 
the  meaning  of  our  author:  it  was  to  give  us  obliquely  a 
curious  precept,  or  what  Bossu  calls  a  disguised  sentence, 
that 'Temperance  is  the  life  of  study.'     The  language  of 
poesy  brings  all  into  action;  and  to  represent  a  critic  encom 
passed  with  books  but  without  a  supper,  is  a  picture  which 
lively  expresseth   how  much  the  true  critic  prefers  the  diet 
of  the  mind  to  that  of  the  body,  one  of  which  he  always  cas 
tigates,  and  often  totally  neglects,  for  the  greater  improve 
ment  of  the  other.  Scribl. 
But  since  the  discovery  of  the  true  hero  of  the  poem,  ma.f 


198          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Then  gnaw'd  his  pen,  then  dash'd  it  on  the  ground, 

Sinking  from  thought  to  thought,  a  vast  profound  ! 

Plunged  for  his  sense,  but  found  no  bottom  there, 

Yet  wrote  and  flounder'd  on,  in  mere  despair.       120 

Round  him  much  embryo,  much  abortion  lay, 

Much  future  ode,  and  abdicated  play : 

Nonsense  precipitate,  like  running  lead, 

Then  slipp'd  through  crags  and  zig-zags  of  the  head: 

All  that  on  folly  frenzy  could  beget, 

Fruit  of  dull  heat,  and  sooterkins  of  wit. 

Next  o'er  his  books  his  eyes  began  to  roll, 

In  pleasing  memory  of  all  he  stole, 

How  here  he  sipp'd,  how  here  he  plunder'd  snug, 

And  suck'd  all  o'er  like  an  industrious  bug.  130 

Here  lay  poor  Fletcher's  half-eat  scenes,  and  here 

The  frippery  of  crucified  Molicre  : 

There  hapless  Shakspeare,  yet  of  Tibbald  sore, 

Wish'd  he  had  blotted  for  himself  before. 

REMARKS. 

we  not  add,  that  nothing  was  so  natural,  after  so  great  a  loss 
of  money  at  dice,  or  of  reputation  by  liis  play,  as  that  the 
poet  should  have  no  great  stomach  to  eat  a  supper?  Be 
sides,  how  well  lias  the  poet  consulted  his  heroic  character, 
in  adding  that  he  has  swore  all  the  time  ?  Bentl. 

Ver.  131.  Poor  Fletcher's  hall-eat  scenes.]  A  great  num 
her  of  them  taken  out  to  patch  up  his  pluys. 

Ver.  132.  The  frippery.]  '  When  I  fitted  up  an  old  play 
it  was  as  a  good  housewife  will  mend  old  linen,  when  she 
has  not  better  employment.'  Life,  p.  217,  8vo. 

Ver.  133.  Hapless  Shakspeare,  &c.]  It  is  not  to  be 
doubted  but  Bays  was  a  subscriber  to  Tibbald'e  Shakspeare. 
He  was  frequently  liberal  in  this  way;  and,  as  he  tells  us, 
'subscribed  to  Mr.  Pope's  Homer  out  of  pure  generosity  and 
civility ;  but  when  Mr.  Pope  did  so  to  his  Non-juror,  he  con 
cluded  it  could  be  nothing  but  n  joke.'  Letter  to  Mr.  P.  p.24. 

This  Tibbald,  or  Theobald,  published  an  edition  of Shak- 
sptjaro,  of  whirl]  he  was  so  proud  himself  us  to  say,  in  one 
of  Mist's  Journals,  June  8,  '  That  to  expose  any  errors  in  it 
was  impracticable.'  And  to  another,  April  27,  'That  what 
ever  care  might  for  the  future  be  taken  by  any  other  editor, 
he  would  still  give  about  five  hundred  emendations,  that 
shall  escape  them  all.' 

Ver.  134.  Wish'd  he  had  blotted.]  It  was  a  ridiculoui 
praise  which  tho  players  gave  to  Shakspeare,  '  that  he  never 


THE  DUNCIAD.  199 

The  rest  on  outside  merit  but  presume, 

Or  serve  (like  other  fools)  to  fill  a  room  ; 

Such  with  their  shelves  as  due  proportion  hold, 

Or  their  fond  parents  dress'd  in  red  and  gold  : 

Or  where  the  pictures  for  the  page  atone, 

And  Quarles  is  saved  by  beauties  not  his  own.      140 

Here  swells  the  shelf  with  Ogilby  the  great : 

There,  stamp'd  with  arms,  Newcastle  shines  complete: 

Here  all  his  suffering  brotherhood  retire, 

And  'scape  the  martyrdom  of  jakcs  and  fire  : 

A  Gothic  library  !  of  Greece  and  Rome 

Well  purged,  and  worthy  Settle,  Banks,  and  Broome. 

REMARKS. 

blotted  a  lino.'  Ben  Jonson  honestly  wished  ho  had  blotted 
a  thousand  ;  and  Sliakspoure  would  certainly  have  wished 
the  same,  if  ho  had  lived  to  sec  the  alterations  in  his  works 
which  not  the  actors  only  (and  especially  the  daring  hero  of 
this  poem)  have  made  on  the  stage,  but  the  presumptuous 
critics  of  our  days  in  their  editions. 

Ver.  135.  The  rest  on  outside  merit,  &c.]  This  library 
is  divided  into  three  parts;  the  first  consists  of  those  authors 
from  whom  he  stole,  and  whose  works  he  mangled ;  the  se 
cond  of  such  as  fitted  the  shelves,  or  were  gilded  for  show, 
or  adoined  with  pictures:  the  third  class  our  author  calls 
solid  learning,  old  bodies  of  divinity,  old  commentaries,  old 
English  printers,  or,  old  English  translations;  all  very  volu 
minous,  and  fit,  to  erect  altars  to  Dulncss.  ' 

Ver.  141.  Ogilby  the  great:]  'John  Ogilby  was  one, 
who,  from  a  late  initiation  into  literature,  made  such  a  pro- 
gross  as  might  well  style  him  the  prodigy  of  his  time!  send 
ing  into  the  world  so  many  large  volumes  !  His  translating 
of  Homer  and  Virgil  done  to  the  life,  and  with  such  excel 
lent  sculptures:  and  (what  added  great  grace  to  his  works) 
he  printed  them  all  on  special  good  paper,  and  in  a  very  good 
letter.'  Winstanley,  Lives  of  Poets. 

Ver.  142.  There,  stamp'd  with  arms,  Newcastle  shineg 
complete  :]  '  The  dutchess  of  Newcastle  \vas  one  who  bu 
sied  herself  in  the  ravishing  delights  of  poetry;  leaving  to 
posterity  in  print  three  ample  volumes  of  her  studious  en- 
deavours.'  Winstanley,  ibid.  Langbane  reckons  up  eight 
folios  of  her  grace's,  which  were  usually  adorned  with  gild 
ed  covers,  and  had  her  coat  of  arms  upon  them. 

Ver.  14(i.  Worthy  Settle,  Banks,  and  Broome.]  The 
poet  has  mentioned  thefec  three  authors  in  particu.ar,  ai 
they  are  parallel  to  our  hero  in  his  three  capacities;  1.  Set 
tle  was  his  brother  laureate;  only  indeed  upon  half-pay,  for 


200          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

But,  high  above,  more  solid  learning  shone, 
The  classics  of  an  age  that  heard  of  none ; 
There  Caxton  slept,  with  Wynkyn  at  his  side,       119 
One  clasp'd  in  wood,  and  one  in  strong  cow-hide  ; 
There,  saved  by  spice,  like  mummies,  many  a  year, 
Dry  bodies  of  divinity  appear: 
De  Lyra  there  a  dreadful  front  extends, 
And  here  the  groaning  shelves  Philemon  bends. 

REMARKS. 

the  city  instead  of  the  court ;  but  equally  famous  for  unin 
telligible  flights  in  his  poems  on  public  occasions,  such  as 
shows,  birth-days,  &c.  2.  Banks  was  his  rival  in  tragedy 
though  more  successful  in  one  of  his  tragedies,  the  Earl 
of  Essex,  which  is  yet  alive:  Anna  Boleyn,  the  Queen  of 
Scots,  and  Cyrus  the  Great,  are  dead  and  gone.  These  he 
dressed  in  a  sort  of  beggar's  velvet,  or  a  happy  mixture  of 
the  thick  fustian  and  thin  prosaic;  exactly  imitated  in  Pe- 
rolla  and  Isidora,  Caesar  in  Egypt,  and  the  Heroic  Daughter 
3.  Broome  was  a  serving  man  of  Ben  Jonson,  who  once 
picked  up  a  comedy  from  his  letters,  or  from  some  cast 
gcenes  of  his  master,  not  entirely  contemptible. 

Ver.  147.  More  solid  learning.]  Some  have  objected, 
that  books  of  this  sort  suit  not  so  well  the  library  of  our 
Bays,  which  they  imagined  consisted  of  novels,  plays,  and 
obscene  books ;  but  they  are  to  consider  that  he  furnished 
nis  shelves  only  for  ornament,  and  read  these  books  no  more 
than  the  dry  bodies  of  divinity,  which,  no  doubt,  were  pur 
chased  by  his  father  when  he  designed  him  for  the  gown. 
See  the  note  on  ver.  200. 

Ver.  140.  Caxton]  A  printer  in  the  time  of  Edw.  IV. 
Richard  111.  and  lien.  VII. ;  Wynkyu  de  Word  ,  his  suc 
cessor,  in  that  of  Hen.  VII.  and  VIII.  The  former  trans 
lated  into  prose  Virgil's  JEneis,  as  a  history  ;  of  which  ho 
speaks,  in  his  proeme,  in  a  very  singular  manner,  as  of  a 
book  hardly  known.  Tibbald  quotes  a  rare  passage  from 
him  in  Mist's  Journal  of  March  16,  1728,  concerning  a 
straunge  and  marvallous  beaste,  called  Sagittayre,  which  ho 
would  have  Shakspeare  to  mean  rather  than  Teucer,  the 
archer  celebrated  by  Homer. 

Ver.  153.  Nich  de  Lyra,  or  Harpsfield,  a  very  volumi 
nous  commentator,  whose  works,  in  five  vast  folios,  were 
printed  in  1472. 

Ver.  154.  Philemon  Holland,  doctor  in  physic.  'Hetrang- 
lated  so  many  books,  that  a  man  would  think  he  had  done 
nothing,  else ;  insomuch  that  he  might  be  called  translator 
general  of  his  age.  The  books  alone  of  his  turning  into 
English  arc  sufficient  to  make  a  country  gentleman  a  com 
PJete  library.  Winstanleii . 


THE  DUNCIAD.  201 

Of  these,  twelve  volumes,  twelve  of  amplest  size, 
Redeem'd  from  tapers  and  defrauded  pies, 
Inspired  he  seizes :  these  an  altar  raise  : 
A  hecatomb  of  pure  unsullied  lays 
That  altar  crowns  :  a  folio  common-place 
Founds  the  whole  pile,  of  all,  his  works  the  base :    ICO 
Quartos,  octavos,  shape  the  lessening  pyre ; 
A  twisted  birth-day  ode  completes  the  spire. 

Then  he  :  '  Great  tamer  of  all  human  art ! 
First  in  my  care,  and  ever  at  my  heart ; 
Dulness  !  whose  good  old  cause  I  yet  defend, 
With  whom  my  muse  began,  with  whom  shall  end, 
E'er  since  sir  Fopling's  periwig  was  praise, 
To  the  last  honours  of  the  butt  and  bays  : 
O  thou  !  of  business  the  directing  soul ; 
To  this  our  head  like  bias  to  the  bowl,  170 

Which,  as  more  ponderous,  made  its  aim  more  true, 
Obliquely  waddling  to  the  mark  in  view  : 
O  !  ever  gracious  to  perplex'd  mankind, 
Still  spread  a  healing  mist  before  the  mind ; 
And,  lest  we  err  by  wit's  wild  dancing  light, 
Secure  us  kindly  in  our  native  night. 
Or,  if  to  wit  a  coxcomb  make  pretence, 
Guard  the  sure  barrier  between  that  and  sense ; 

REMARKS. 

Vor.  167.  E'er  since  sir  Fopling's  poriwig.'  The  first 
visible  cause  of  tlie  passion  of  the  town  for  our  hero,  was  a 
fair  flaxen  full-bottomed  periwig,  which,  he  tells  us,  he  wore 
in  his  first  play  of  the  Fool  in  Fashion.  It  attracted,  in  a 
particular  manner,  the  friendship  of  Col.  Brett,  who  wanted 
to  purchase  it.  '  Whatever  contempt,'  says  he,  '  philoso 
phers  may  have  for  a  fine  periwig,  my  friend,  who  was  not 
to  despise  the  world,  but  to  live  in  it,  knew  very  well,  that 
so  material  an  article  of  dress  upon  the  head  of  a  man  of 
sense,  if  it  became  him,  could  never  fail  of  drawing  to  him 
a  more  partial  regard  and  benevolence,  than  could  possibly 
bo  hoped  for  in  an  ill-made  one.  This,  perhaps,  may  soften 
the  grave  censure  which  so  youthful  a  purchase  might 
otherwise  have  laid  upon  him.  In  a  word,  he  made  his  at 
tack  upon  this  periwig,  as  your  young  fellows  generally  do 
upon  a  lady  of  pleasure,  first  by  a  few  familiar  praises  of 
her  person,  and  then  a  civil  inquiry  into  the  price  of  it;  and 
VOL.  II.  14 


802          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Or  quite  unravel  all  the  reasoning  thread, 

And  hang  some  curious  cobweb  in  its  stead  !          180 

As  forced  from  wind-guns,  lead  itself  can  fly, 

And  ponderous  slugs  cut  swiftly  through  the  sky  ; 

Aa  clocks  to  weight  their  nimble  motions  owe, 

The  wheels  above  urged  by  the  load  below  : 

Me  Emptiness  and  Dulness  could  inspire, 

And  were  my  elasticity  and  fire. 

Some  demon  stole  my  pen  (forgive  the  offence) 

And  once  betray'J  me  into  common  sense  : 

Else  all  my  prose  and  verse  were  much  the  same ; 

This,  prose  on  stilts  ;  that,  poetry  fall'n  lame.        190 

Did  on  the  stage  my  fops  appear  confined  ! 

My  life  gave  ampler  lessons  to  mankind. 

Did  the  dead  letter  unsuccessful  prove  ? 

The  brisk  example  never  fail'd  to  move. 

Yet  sure,  had  Heaven  decreed  to  save  the  state, 

Heaven  had  decreed  these  works  a  longer  date. 

Could  Troy  be  saved  by  any  single  hand, 

This  gray-goose  weapon  must  have  made  her  stand. 

What  can  I  now  ?  my  Fletcher  cast  aside, 

Take  up  the  Bible,  once  my  better  guide  ?  200 

REMARKS. 

we  finished  our  bargain  that  night  over  a  bottle.'  See  Lift;, 
8vo.  p.  303.  This  remarkable  periwig  usually  made  its  en 
trance  upon  the  stage  in  a  sedan,  brought  in  by  two  chair 
men,  with  infinite  approbation  of  the  audience. 

Ver.  178,  179.  Guard  the  sure  barrier— Or  quite  unravel, 
&.C.]  For  wit  or  reasoning  are  never  greatly  hurtful  to  dul- 
ness,  but  when  the  first  is  founded  in  truth,  and  the  other  in 
usefulness. 

Ver.  181.  As,  forced  from  wind-guns,  <Stc.]  Thi  thought 
of  these  four  verses  is  founded  in  a  poem  of  our  author's  of 
a  very  early  date  (namely,  written  at  fourteen  years  old,  and 
soon  after  printed,)  to  the  author  of  a  poem  called  Successio. 

Ver.  198.  Gray-goose  weapon.]  Alluding  to  the  old 
English  weapon,  the  arrow  of  the  long-bow,  which  wan 
fletched  with  the  feathers  of  the  gray-goose. 

Ver.  19!).  My  Fletcher]  A  familiar  manner  of  speaking, 
used  by  modern  critics,  of  a  favourite  author.  Bays  might 
as  jvistly  speak  this  of  Fletcher,  as  a  French  wit  did  of 
Tully,  seeing  his  works  in  a  library,  Jth  '.  mon  cher  Ciceroni 


THE  DUNCIAD.  20S 

Or  tread  the  path  by  venturous  heroes  ttod, 

This  box  my  thunder,  this  right  hand  my  god? 

Or,  chair'd  at  White's,  amidst  the  doctors  sit, 

Teach  oaths  to  gamesters,  and  to  nobles  wit  ? 

Or  bidst  thou  rather  party  to  embrace  ? 

(A  friend  to  party  thou,  and  all  her  race  ; 

"Pis  the  same  rope  at  different  ends  they  twist  ; 

To  Dulness  Ridpath  is  as  dear  as  Mist.) 

Shall  I,  like  Curtius,  desperate  in  my  zeal, 

O'er  head  and  ears  plunge  for  the  common  weal?    210 

Or  rob  Rome's  ancient  geese  of  all  their  glories, 

And  cackling  save  the  monarchy  of  Tories  ? 


REMARKS. 

ie  le  connois  bi^n:  c'est  le  meme  que  Marc  Tulle.  But  ho 
had  a  better  title  to  call  Fletcher  his  own,  having  made  so 
free  with  him. 

Ver.  200.  Take  up  the  Bihle,  once  my  better  guide 7] 
When,  according  to  his  father's  intention,  he  had  been  a 
clergyman,  or  (as  he  thinks  himself,)  a  bishop  of  the  church 
of  England.  Hear  his  own  words:  'At  the  time  that  the 
fate  of  King  James,  the  prince  of  Orange,  and  myself,  wer« 
on  the  anvil,  Providence  thought  fit  to  postpone  mine,  till 
theirs  were  determined:  but  had  my  father  carried  me  a 
month  sooner  to  the  university,  who  knows  but  that  purer 
fountain  might  have  washed  rny  imperfections  into  a  capa 
city  of  writing,  instead  of  plays  and  annual  odes,  sermons, 
anil  pastoral  letters  '!' — Apology  for  his  Life,  chap.  iii. 

Ver.  203.  At  White's  amidst  the  doctors]  These  doctors 
nad  a  mode.st  and  uptight  appearance,  no  air  of  overbear 
ing;  but,  like  true  masters  of  art,  were  only  habited  in  black 
and  white:  they  were  justly  styled  subliles  and  graves,  but 
not  always  irrefragabiles,  being  sometimes  examined,  and  by 
a  nice  distinction,  divided  and  laid  open.  fieri///.. 

This  learned  critic  is  to  ba  understood  allegorically.  The 
doctors  in  this  place  mean  no  move  than  false  dice,  a  cant 
phrase  used  among  gamesters.  So  the  meaning  of  these 
four  sonorous  lines  is  onlv  this,  'Shall  I  play  fair  or  foul?' 

Ver.  208.  Ridpath— Milt.]  George  Ridpath,  autbor  of  a 
Whig  paper,  called  the  Flying-post;  Nathaniel  Mist  of  a 
famous  Tory  journal. 

Ver.  311.  Or  rob  Rome's  ancient  geese  of  all  their 
glories,]  Relates  to  the  well-known  story  of  the  geese  tha. 
saved  the  Capitol;  of  which  Virgil,  jfln.  viii. 

'  Atque  hie  auratis  volitans  argenteus  anser 
Porticibus,  Gallos  in  limine  adesse  canebat." 


204          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Hold — to  the  minister  I  more  incline; 

To  serve  his  cause,  O  queen  !  is  serving  thine. 

And  see !  thy  very  Gazetteers  give  o'er ; 

E'en  Ralph  repents,  and  Henley  writes  no  more. 

What  then  remains  ?   Ourself.     Still,  still  remain 

Cibberian  forehead,  and  Cibberian  brain. 

REMARKS. 

A  passage  I  have  always  suspected.  Who  sees  not  the 
antithesis  of  auratis  and  argentcus  to  be  unworthy  the 
Virgilian  majesty  1  And  what  absurdity  to  say  a  goose 
sings  ?  canebat.  Virgi!  gives  a  contrary  character  of  tho 
voice  of  this  silly  bird,  in  Eel.  ix. 

' argutos  inter  strepero  anser  olorcs.' 

Head  it,  therefore,  adcssc  strepebat.  And  why  auratis 
porticibus  ?  does  not  the  very  verse  preceding  this  inform  us, 

1  Romuleoque  recens  horrebat  regia  culmo.' 
Is  this  thatch  in  one  line,  and  gold  in  another,  consistent  1    J 
scruple  not  (rcpugnanlibus  omnibus  manuscriptis)  to  correct 
it  auritis.    Horace  uses  the  same  epithet  in  the  same  sense, 

'  Auritas  fidibus  canoris 
Dueere  quercus.' 

And  to  say  that  walls  have  ears  is  common  even  to  a 
proverb.  Scrihl. 

Ver.  212.  And  cackling  save  the  monarchy  of  Tories  ?j 
Not  out  of  any  preference  or  affection  to  tho  Tories.  For 
what  Hobbes  so  ingeniously  confesses  of  himself,  is  true  of 
all  ministerial  writers  whatsoever:  'That  lie  defends  the 
supreme  powers,  as  the  geese  by  their  cackling  defended  the 
Romans,  who  held  the  Capitol ;  for  they  favoured  them  no 
more  than  the  Gauls,  their  enemies;  but  were  as  ready  to 
have  defended  the  Gauls  if  they  had  been  possessed  of  tho 
Capitol.'  Epis.  Dedic.  to  the  Leviathan. 

Ver.  215.  Gazetteers.]  A  band  of  ministerial  writers, 
hired  at  the  prices  mentioned  in  the  note  on  hook  ii.  ver.  316, 
who,  on  the  very  day  their  patron  quitted  his  post,  laid  down 
their  paper,  and  declared  they  would  never  more  meddle  in 
politics. 

Ver.  218.  Cibberian  forehead.]  So  indeed  all  the  MSS. 
read  ;  but  I  make  no  scruple  to  pronounce  them  all  wrong 
the  laureate  being  elsewhere  celebrated  by  our  poet  for  his 
great  modesty — modest  Cibher — Read,  therefore,  at  my 
peril,  Cerberian  forehead.  This  is  perfectly  classical,  and, 
what  is  more,  Homerical ;  the  dog  was  the  ancient,  as  the 
bitch  is  the  modern  symbol  of  impudence :  (Kuvoj  O/U,U«T 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


205 


This  brazen  brightness,  to  the  'squire  so  dear  , 

This  polish'd  hardness,  that  reflects  the  peer  :        220 

This  arch  absurd,  that  wit  and  fool  delights ; 

This  mess,  toss'd  up  of  Hockley-hole  and  White's  ; 

Where  dukes  and  butchers  join  to  wreathe  my  crown, 

At  once  the  bear  and  fiddle  of  the  town. 

O  born  in  sin,  and  forth  in  folly  brought ! 
Works   dainn'd,   or  to  be  damn'd   (your  father's 

fault,) 

Go,  purified  by  flames,  ascend  the  sky, 
My  better  and  more  Christian  progeny  ! 
Unstain'd,  untouch'd,  and  yet  in  maiden  sheeU  ; 
While  all  your  smutty  sisters  walk  the  streets.      239 
Ye  shall  not  beg,  like  gratis-given  Bland, 
Sent  with  a  pass,  and  vagrant  through  the  land; 
Nor  sail  with  Ward,  to  ape  and  monkey  climes, 
Where  vile  mundungus  trucks  for  viler  rhymes  : 
Not,  sulphur  tipt,  emblaze  an  ale-house  fire  ; 
Nor  wrap  up  oranges,  to  pelt  your  sire  ! 

REMARKS. 

i%<.»v,  says  Achilles  to  Agamemnon:)  which,  when  in  a  su 
perlative  degree,  may  well  be  denominated  from  Cerberus,  the 
dog  with  three  heads — But  as  to  the  latter  part  of  this  verse, 
Cibberian  brain,  that  is  certainly  the  genuine  reading. 

Bentl. 

Ver.  225.  O  born  in  sin,  &c.]  This  is  a  tender  and 
passionate  apostrophe  to  his  own  works,  which  lie  is  going 
to  sacrifice,  agreeable  to  the  nature  of  man  in  great  afflic 
tion:  and  reflecting,  like  a  parent,  on  the  many  miserable 
fates  to  which  they  would  otherwise  he  subject. 

Ver.  228.  My  better  and  more  christiiin  progeny !]  'It 
may  bo  observable,  that  my  muse  and  my  spouse  were 
equally  prolific !  that  the  one  was  seldom  the  mother  of  a 
child,  but  in  the  same  year  the  other  made  me  the  father  of 
a  play.  I  think  we  had  a  dozen  of  each  sort  between  us  ; 
of  both  which  kinds,  some  died  in  their  infancy,  &c.'  Life 
ofC.  C.  p.  217,  8vo.  edit. 

Ver.  131.  Gratis-given  Bland, — Sent  with  a  pass,]  It  WHS 
a  practice  so  to  give  the  Daily  Gazetteer  and  ministerial 
pamphlets  (in  which  this  B.  was  a  writer,)  and  to  send  them 
post  free  to  all  the  towns  in  the  kingdom. 

Ver.  233.     With   Ward,  to  ape   and   monkey  climes,] 
Edward  Ward,   a   very  voluminous   poet  in  Hudibragtin 


206         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

O  !  pass  more  innocent,  in  infant  state, 

To  the  mild  limbo  of  our  father  Tate : 

Or  peaceably  forgot,  at  once  be  bless'd 

In  Shadwell's  bosom  with  eternal  rest !  240 

Soon  to  that  mass  of  nonsense  to  return, 

Where  things  destroy'd  are  swept  to  things  unborn. 

With  that,  a  tear  (portentous  sign  of  grace !) 
Stole  from  the  master  of  the  seven-fold  face  : 
And  thrice  he  lifted  high  the  birth-day  brand, 
And  thrice  he  dropp'd  it  from  his  quivering  hand: 
Then  lights  the  structure,  with  averted  eyes  : 
The  rolling  smoke  involves  the  sacrifice. 
The  opening  clouds  disclose  each  work  by  turns, 
Now  flames  the  Cid,  and  now  Perolla  burns ;        250 
Great  Cansar  roars,  and  hisses  in  the  fires  ; 
King  John  in  silence  modestly  expires  : 
No  merit  now  the  dear  Nonjuror  claims, 
Moliere's  old  stubble  in  a  moment  flames. 


verse,  but  best  known  by  tlic  London  Spy,  in  prose.  He 
has  of  late  years  kept  a  public-house  in  tho  city  (but  in  a 
genteel  way,)  and  with  his  wit,  humour,  and  good  liquor 
(ale,)  afforded  his  guests  a  pleasurable  entertainment, 
especially  those  of  the  high  church-party.'  Jacob,  Lives  or 
Poets,  vol.  ii.  p.  225.  Great  numbers  of  his  works  were 
yearly  sold  into  the  Plantations. — Ward,  in  a  book,  called 
Apollo's  Maggot,  declared  this  account  to  be  a  great  falsity, 
protesting  that  his  public-house  was  not  in  the  city,  but  in 
Moorfields. 

Ver.  238.  240.  Tate— Shadwell.]  Two  of  his  predecessors 
in  the  laurel. 

Ver.  250.  Now  flames  the  Cid,  &c.]  In  the  first  notes 
on  the  Dunciad  it  was  said,  that  this  author  was  particular 
ly  excellent  at  tragedy.  '  This,'  says  he,  '  is  as  unjust  as  to 
say  I  could  not  dance  on  a  rope.'  But  certain  it  is,  that  ho 
had  attempted  to  dance  on  this  rope,  and  fell  most  shame 
fully,  having  produced  no  less  than  four  tragedies  (tho 
names  of  which  the  poet  preserves  in  these  few  lines ;)  tho 
three  first  of  them  were  fairly  printed,  acted,  and  damned; 
the  fourth  suppressed  in  fear  of  the  like  treatment. 

Ver.  253,254.  The  dear  Nonjuror— Moliere's  old  stubble.] 
A  comedy  thrashed  out  of  Moliero's  Tartuffe,  and  so  much 
ihe  translator's  favourite,  that  he  assures  us  all  our  author1' 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


207 


Tears  gush'd  again,  as  from  pale  Priam's  eyes, 
When  the  last  blaze  sent  Ilion  to  the  skies. 

Roused  by  the  light,  old  Dulness  heaved  the  head. 
Then  snatch'd  a  sheet  of  Thule  from  her  bed  ; 
Sudden  she  flies,  and  whelms  it  o'er  the  pyre ; 
Down  sink  the  flames,  and  with  a  hiss  expire.       20") 

Her  ample  presence  fills  up  all  the  place  ; 
A  veil  of  fogs  dilates  her  awful  face : 
Great  in  her  charms  !  as  when  on  shrieves  and  mayors 
She  looks,  and  breathes  herself  into  their  airs. 
She  bid  him  wait  her  to  her  sacred  dome  : 
Well  pleased  he  enter'd,  and  confess'd  his  home 
So  spirits,  ending  their  terrestrial  race, 
Ascend,  and  recognize  their  native  place. 
This  the  great  mother  dearer  held  than  all 
The  club  of  quidnuncs,  or  her  own  Guildhall :      270 
Here  stood  her  opium,  here  she  nursed  her  owls, 
And  here  she  plann'd  the  imperial  seat  of  fools. 

Here  to  her  chosen  all  her  works  she  shows ; 
Prose  swell'd  to  verse,  verse  loitering  into  prose  : 
How  random  thoughts  now  meaning  chance  to  find, 
Now  leave  all  memory  of  sense  behind  : 
How  prologues  into  prefaces  decay, 
And  these  to  notes  are  fritter'd  quite  away  ; 

REMARKS. 

dislike  to  it  could  only  arise  from  disaffection  to  the  govern 
ment.  He  assures  us,  that  '  when  he  had  the  honour  to 
kiss  his  majesty's  hand,  upon  presenting  his  dedication  of  it, 
he  was  graciously  pleased  out  of  his  royal  bounty,  to  ordar 
him  two  hundred  pounds  for  it.  And  Ihis,  he  doubts  not, 
grieved  Mr.  P.' 

Ver.  258.  Thule]  An  unfinished  poem  of  that  name,  of 
which  one  sheet  was  printed  many  years  ago,  by  Ambrose 
Phillips,  a  northern  author.  It  is  an  usual  method  of  putting 
out  a  fire,  to  cast  wet  sheets  upon  it.  Some  critics  have 
been  of  opinion  that  this  sheet  was  of  the  nature  of  the 
asbestos,  which  cannot  be  consumed  by  fire ;  but  I  lather 
think  it  an  allegorical  allusion  to  the  coldness  and  heaviness 
of  the  writing. 

Ver.  269.  Great  mother]  Magna  mater  here  applied  to 
Uulness.  Tim  quidnuncs,  a  name  given  to  the  ancient 


308         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

How  index-learning  turns  no  student  pale, 

Yet  holds  the  eel  of  science  by  the  tail  :  280 

How,  with  less  reading  than  makes  felons  'scape, 

Less  human  genius  than  God  gives  an  ape, 

Small  thanks  to  France,  and  none  to  Rome  or  Greece, 

A  past,  vamp'd,  future,  old,  revived,  new  piece, 

'Twixt  Plautus,  Fletcher,  Shakspeare,  and  Corneille, 

Can  make  a  Cibber,  Tibbald,  or  Ozell. 

REMARKS. 

members  of  several  political  clubs,  who  wero  constantly  in 
quiring  auid  nunc  ?    What  news? 

Ver.  ifeu.  Tibbald.]  Lewis  TibbalJ  (as  pronounced)  or 
Theobald  (as  written)  was  bred  an  attorney,  anil  son  to  an 
attorney,  says  Mr.  Jacob,  of  rfittenburn,  in  Kent.  He  was  the 
author  of  some  forgotten  plays,  translations,  anil  oilier  pieces. 
He  was  concerned  in  a  paper  called  the  Censor,  and  a 
translation  of  Ovid.  'There  is  a  notorious  idiot,  one  bight 
Waclium,  who  from  an  under-spur-leallier  to  the  Inw,  IB  be 
come  an  understrapper  to  the  playhouse,  who  has  lately 
burlesqued  the  Metamorphoses  of  Ovid  by  a  vile  transla 
tion,  &c.  This  fellow  is  concerned  in  an  impertinent  paper 
called  the  Censor.' — Dennis,  Rem.  on  Pope's  Homer,  p. 
9,  10. 

Ibid.  Ozell.]  'Mr.  John  Ozell,  if  we  credit  Mr.  Jacob, 
did  goto  school  in  Leicestershire,  where  somebody  left  him 
something  to  live  on,  when  he  shall  retire  from  business. 
He  was  designed  to  be  sent  to  Cambridge,  in  order  lor 
priesthood  ;  but  he  chose  rather  to  be  placed  in  an  office  o*" 
accounts,  in  the  city,  being  qualified  for  the  same  by  his 
skill  in  arithmetic,  and  writing  the  neces-siiry  hands.  II 
has  obliged  the  world  with  many  translations  of  French 
plays.' — Jacob,  Lives  of  Dram.  Poets,  p.  108. 

Mr.  Jacob's  character  of  Mr.  Ozell  seems  vastly  short  of 
his  merits,  and  he  ought  to  have  further  justice  done  him, 
having  since  confuted  all  sarcasms  on  his  learning  anil 
genius,  by  an  advertisement  of  Sept..  20,  1729,  in  a  paper 
called  the  Weekly  Medley,  &c.  '  As  to  my  learning,  this 
envious  wretch  knew,  and  every  body  knows,  that  the 
whole  bench  of  bishops,  not  long  ago,  were  pleased  to  give 
me  a  pnrso  of  guineas,  for  discovering  the  erroneous  transla 
tions  of  the  Common-prayer  in  Portuguese,  Spanish,  French, 
Italian,  fcc.  As  for  my  genius,  let  Mr.  Cleland  show  better 
verses  in  all  Pope's  works,  than  Ozell's  veision  of  lioileau'i 
I.utrin,  which  the  late  lord  Halifax  was  so  pleased  with,  that 
he  complimented  him  with  leave  to  dedicate  it  to  him,  &O. 
Let  him  show  better  and  truer  poetry  in  the  Rape  of  the 
Lock,  than  in  Ozell'a  Rape  of  the  Bucket,  (la  Secchit 


THE  DUNCIAD.  209 

The  goddess  then,  o'er  his  anointed  head, 
vVith  mystic  words  the  sacred  opium  shed  ; 
And  Jo  !  her  bird  (a  monster  of  a  fowl, 
Something  betwixt  a  heidegger  and  owl)  290 

Perch'd  on  his  crown.     '  All  hail !  and  hail  again, 
My  son  !  the  promised  land  expects  thy  reign. 
Know,  Eusden  thirsts  no  more  for  sack  or  praise; 
He  sleeps  among  the  dull  of  ancient  days  ; 
Safe,  where  no  critics  damn,  nor  duns  molest, 
Where  wretched  Withers,  Ward,  and  Gildon  rest, 
And  high-born  Howard,  more  majestic  sire, 
With  Fool  of  Quality  completes  the  quire. 
Thou  Gibber  !  thou,  his  laurel  shall  support ; 
Folly,  my  son,  has  still  a  friend  at  court.  300 

Lift  up  your  gates,  ye  princes,  see  him  come  ! 
Sound,  sound  ye  viols,  be  the  cat-call  dumb  ! 
Bring,  bring  the  madding  bay,  the  drunken  vine  ; 
The  creeping,  dirty,  courtly  ivy  join. 

REMARKS. 

rapita.)  And  Mr.  Tulaml  and  Mr.  Gildon  publicly  declared 
Ozell's  translation  of  Homer  to  be,  as  it  was  prior,  so  like 
wise  superior  to  Pope's. — Surely,  surely,  every  man  is  free 
to  deserve  well  of  his  country  !' — John  Ozell. 

We  cannot  but  subscribe  to  such  reverend  testimonies,  as 
those  of  the  bench  of  bishops,  Mr.  Toland,  and  Mr.  Gildon. 

Ver.  21JO.  A  heidegger]  A  strange  bird  from  Switzer 
land,  and  not,  as  some  have  supposed,  the  name  of  an  emi 
nent  person  who  was  a  man  of  parts,  and.  as  was  said  of 
Petronius,  arbiter  clegantiarum. 

Ver.  2i)l>.     Withers,]     See  on  ver.  146. 

Ibid.  Gildon]  Charles  Gildon,  a  writer  of  criticisms  and 
libels  in  the  last  age,  bred  at  St.  Diner's  with  the  Jesuits ; 
but  renouncing  popery,  he  published  mount's  books  against 
the  divinity  of  Christ,  the  Oracles  of  Reason.  &c.  Hesignr.- 
lized  himself  as  a  critic,  having  written  some  very  bad  plays ; 
abused  Mr.  P.  very  scandalously  in  an  anonymous  pamphlet 
of  the  life  of  Mr.  Wycherley,  printed  by  Curll ;  in  another 
called  the  New  Rehearsal,  printed  in  1744;  in  a  third,  enti 
tled  the  Complete  Art  of  English  Poetry,  in  two  volumes: 
and  others. 

Ver.  297.  Howard]  Hon.  Edward  Howard,  author  of 
the  British  Princes,  and  a  great  number  of  wonderful  pieces, 
celebrated  by  the  late  earls  of  Dorset  and  Rochester,  ilukf 
nf  Buckingham,  Mr.  Waller,  &c. 


210          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  thou  !  his  aid-de-camp,  lead  on  my  sons, 
Light-arm'd  with  points,  antitheses,  and  puna. 
Let  Bawdry  Billingsgate,  my  daughters  dear, 
Support  his  front,  and  oaths  bring  up  the  rear  : 
And  under  his,  and  under  Archer's  wing, 
Gaming  and  Grub-street  skulk  behind  the  king.     310 

1  0  !  when  shall  rise  a  monarch  all  our  own, 
And  I,  a  nursing-mother,  rock  the  throne  ; 
"Twixt  prince  and  people  close  the  curtain  draw, 
Shade  him  from  light,  and  cover  him  from  law  ; 
Fatten  the  courtier,  starve  the  learned  band, 
And  suckle  armies,  and  dry-nurse  the  land  : 
Till  senates  nod  to  lullabies  divine, 
And  all  be  sleep,  as  at  an  ode  of  thine  !' 

She  ceased.     Then  swells  the  chapel-royal  throat  : 
God  save  king  Gibber  !  mounts  in  every  note.       320 
Familiar  White's,  God  save  king  Colley  !  cries  ; 
God  save  king  Colley  !  Drury-lane  replies  : 
To  Needham's  quick  the  voice  triumphal  rode, 
But  pious  Needham  dropp'd  the  name  of  God  ; 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  309,  310.  Under  Archer's  wing,—  Gaming,  &c  1 
When  the  statute  against  gaming  was  drawn  up,  it  was  re 
presented,  that  the  king,  by  ancient  custom,  plays  at  hazard 
one  night  in  the  year;  and  therefore  a  clause  was  inserted, 
with  an  exemption  as  to  lhat  particular.  Under  this  pre 
tence,  the  groom-porter  had  a  room  appropriated  to  gaming 
nil  the  summer  the  court  was  at  Kensington,  which  his 
majesty  accidentally  being  acquainted  with,  with  a  just  in 
dignation  prohibited.  It  is  reported  the  same  practice  is  yet 
continued  wherever  the  court  resides,  and  the  hazard  table 
there  open  to  all  the  professed  gamesters  in  town. 

'  Greatest  and  justest  sovereign  '.  know  you  this  ? 

Alas!  no  more  than  Thames'  calm  head  can  know, 

Whose  meads  his  arms  drown,  or  whose  corn  o'erfiow.' 
Donne  to  Queen  Eliz. 

Ver.  319.     Chapel-royal.]     The  voices  and  instrument! 


and  very  religious  in  her  way;  whose  constant  prayer  it  was. 
that  she  might  'get  enough  by  her  profession  to  leave  it  off 
in  time,  and  make  her  peace  with  Hod.1  But  her  fate  was 


THE  DUNC1AD.  211 

Back  to  the  Devil  the  last  echoes  roll, 

And  Coll !  each  butcher  roars  at  Hockley-hole. 

So  when  Jove's  block  descended  from  on  high, 
(As  sings  thy  great  forefather  Ogilby) 
Loud  thunder  to  the  bottom  shook  the  bog,  330 

And  the  hoarse  nation  croak'd,  '  God  save  king  Log.' 

REMARKS. 

not  so  happy;  for  being  convicted,  and  set  in  the  pillory,  she 
was,  (to  the  lasting  shame  of  all  her  great  friends  and  vota 
ries)  so  ill  used  hy  the  populace,  that,  it  put  an  pnd  to  her  days. 
Ver.  325.     Back  to  the   Devil.]    The  Devil  Tavern  "in 
Fleet-street,  where  these  odes  are  usually  rehearsed  before 
they  are  performed  at  court.    Upon  which  a  wit  of  those 
times  makes  this  epigram  : 
'When  laureates  make  odes,  do  you  ask  of  what  sort? 

Do  you  ask  if  they're  good,  or  are  evil  ? 
You  may  judge — from  the  Devil  they  come  to  the  court, 

And  go  from  the  court  to  the  devil." 
Ver.  328.— Ogilhy — God  save  king  Log!]     See  Ogilby's 
jEsop's  Fables,  where,  in  the  story  of  the  Frogs  and  their 
King,  this  excellent  hemistich  is  to  he  frund. 

Our  author  manifi'sts  here,  and  elsewhere,  a  prodigious 
tenderness  for  the  bad  writers.  Wo  see  he  selects  the  only 
good  passage,  perhaps,  in  all  that  ever  Ogilby  writ!  which 
shows  how  candid  and  patient  a  reader  he  must  have  been. 
What  can  be  more  kind  and  afiectionate  than  the  words  in 
the  preface  to  his  poems,  where  he  labours  to  call  upon  all 
our  humanity  and  forgiveness  towards  these  unlucky  men, 
bv  the  most  moderate  representation  of  their  case  that  has 
ever  been  given  by  any  author  ? 

But  how  much  all  indulgence  is  lost  upon  these  people 
may  appear  from  the  just  reflection  made  on  their  constant 
conduct  and  constant  fate,  in  the  following  epigram: 
Ye  little  wits,  that  gleam'd  awhile, 

When  Pope  vouchsafed  a  ray; 
Alas!  deprived  of  his  kind  smile, 

How  soon  ye  fade  away! 
'To  compass  Phoebus'  car  about, 

Thus  empty  vapours  rise, 
Each  lends  his  cloud  to  put  him  out, 
That  rear'd  him  to  the  skies. 
Alas!  those  skies  are  not,  your  sphere; 

There  he  shall  ever  burn: 
Weep,  weep,  and  fall !  for  earth  ye  were, 

And  must  to  earth  return.' 

Two  things  there  are,  upon  the  supposition  of  which  the 
very  basis  of  all  verbal  criticism  is  founded  and  supported— 


212          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

BOOK  THE  SECOND. 
ARGUMENT. 

Phe  king  being  proclaimed,  the  solemnity  is  graced  with 
public  games  and  sports  of  various  kinds;  not  insti 
tuted  by  the  hero,  as  by  ./Eneas  in  Virgil,  but,  for 
greater  honour,  by  the  goddess  in  person,  (in  like  man 
ner  as  the  games  of  Pythia,  Isthmia,  &c.  were  an 
ciently  said  to  be  ordained  by  the  gods,  and  as  Thetis 
herself  appearing,  according  to  Homer,  Odyss.  xxiv. 
proposed  the  prizes  in  honour  of  her  son  Achillc.s.) 
Hither  flock  the  poets  and  critics,  attended,  as  is  but 
just,  with  their  patrons  and  booksellers.  The  goddess 
is  first  pleased,  for  her  disport,  to  propose  games  to  the 
booksellers,  and  setteth  up  the  phantom  of  a  poet. 
which  they  contend  to  overtake.  The  races  described. 
with  their  divers  accidents.  Next  the  game  for  a 
poetess.  Then  follow  the  exercises  for  the  poets,  of 
tickling,  vociferating,  diving.  Tlie  first  holds  forth 
the  arts  and  practices  of  dedicators,  the  second  of  dis 
putants  and  fustian  poets,  the  third  of  profound,  dark, 
and  dirty  party- writers.  Lastly,  for  the  critics,  the 

REMARKS. 

the  first,  that  an  author  could  never  fail  1o  use  the  best 
word  on  every  occasion :  the  second,  that  a  critic  cnnnox 
choose  but  know  which  that  is.  This  being  granted,  when 
ever  any  word  doth  not  fully  content  us,  we  tnke  upon  us  to 
conclude,  first,  that  the  author  could  never  have  used  it; 
and,  secondly,  that  he  must  have  used  that  very  one,  which 
we  conjecture,  in  its  stead. 

We  cannot,  therefore,  enough  admire  the  learned  Scrib- 
lenis,  for  his  alteration  of  the  text  in  the  lust  two  versos  of 
the  preceding  book,  which  in  all  the  former  editions  stood 
thus: 

Hoarse  thunder  to  its  bottom  shook  the  bog, 

And  the  loud  nation  croak'd,  '  God  save  king  Log  !' 

He  has,  with  great  judgment,  transposed  these  two  e]>i 
ihets;  putting  hoarse  to  the  nation,  and  loud  to  the  thunder; 
and  this  being  evidently  the  true  reading,  lie  vouchsafed  not 
BO  much  as  to  mention  the  former:  for  which  assertion  of 
•.lie  just  right  of  a  critic  he  merits  the  acknowledgment  ol 
all  sound  commentators. 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


213 


goddess  proposes,  (with  great  propriety)  an  exercise, 
not  of  their  parts,  but  their  patience,  in  hearing  tha 
works  of  two  voluminous  authors,  one  in  verse,  and 
the  other  in  prose,  deliberately  read,  without  sleeping  , 
the  various  effects  of  which,  with  the  several  degrees 
and  manners  of  their  operation,  are  here  set  forth  ;  till 
the  whole  number,  not  of  critics  only,  but  of  specta 
tors,  actors,  and  all  present,  fall  asleep;  which  natu 
rally  and  necessarily  ends  the  games. 

BOOK  II. 

HIGH  on  a  gorgeous  seat,  that  far  out-shone 
Henley's  gilt  tub,  or  Fleckno's  Irish  throne, 
Or  that  where  on  her  Curlls  the  public  pours, 
All  bounteous,  fragrant  grains  and  golden  showers, 


REMARKS. 

Ver.  2.  Henley's  gilt  tub,]  The  pulpit  of  a  dissenter  is 
usually  called  a  tub;  but  that  of  Mr.  Orator  Henley  was  co 
vered  wilb  velvet,  and  adorned  with  gold.  He  bad  also  a 
fair  altar,  and  over  it  Ibis  extraordinary  inscription:  'The 
primitive  cucnarist.'  See  the  history  of  Ibis  person,  book  iii. 

Ver.  2.  or  Fleckno's  Irish  throne,]  Richard  Fleckno  waa 
an  Irish  priest,  but  had  laid  aside  (as  himself  expressed  itj 
the  mechanic  part  of  priesthood.  He  primed  some  plays, 
poems,  lelters,  and  travels.  I  doubt  not,  our  author  took 
occasion  10  mention  him  in  respect  to  the  poem  of  Mr.  Dry- 
den,  to  which  this  bears  some  resemblance,  though  of  a  cha 
racter  more  dilteri'iit  from  it  than  that  of  the  /Eneid  from  tha 
Iliad,  or  the  Lntrin  of  Boileau  from  the  Defait  de  Bouts  ri- 
niiies  of  Sara/.in. 

It  may  be  just  worth  mentioning,  that  the  eminence  from 
whence  the  ancient  sophists  entertained  their  auditors,  was 
called  by  the  pompous  name  of  a  throne.  Themistius, 
Oral.  i. 

Ver.  3.  Or  that  whereon  her  Curlls  the  public  pours.] 
Edmund  Curll  stood  in  the  pillory  at  Charing-cron,  in  March 
J727-8.  'This,'  saith  Edmund  Curll,  'is  a  false  assertion— 
I  had,  indeed,  the  corporal  punishment  of  what  the  gentle 
men  of  the  long  robe  are  pleased  jocosely  to  call  mounting 
the  rostrum  for  on«  hour:  but  that  scene  of  action  win  not 
in  the  month  of  March,  but  in  February.'  (Curliad,  12mo. 
p.  19.)  And  of  the  history  of  his  being" tossed  in  a  blanket, 
he  saith,  '  Here,  Scriblerus!  thou  leesest  in  what  thou  as- 
sertest  concerning  the  blanket:  it  was  not  a  blanket  but  a 
rug,'  p.  25.  Much  in  the  same  manner  Mr.  Cibber  remon- 


214         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Great  Gibber  sat :  the  proud  Parnassian  sneer, 
The  conscious  simper,  and  the  jealous  leer, 
Mix  on  his  look  :  all  eyes  direct  their  rays 
On  him,  and  crowds  turn  coxcombs  as  they  gaze. 
His  peers  shine  round  him  with  reflected  grace, 
New  edge  their  dulness,  and  new  bronze  their  face. 
So  from  the  sun's  broad  beam,  in  shallow  urns,      It 
Heaven's  twinkling  sparks  draw  light,  and  point  their 
horns. 

Not  with  more  glee,  by  hands  pontific  crown'd, 
With  scarlet  hats  wide  waving  circled  round, 
Rome  in  her  Capitol  saw  Querno  sit, 
Throned  on  seven  hills,  the  Antichrist  of  wit. 

And  now  the  queen,  to  glad  her  sons,  proclaims 
By  herald  hawkers,  high  heroic  games. 
They  summon  all  her  race  :  an  endless  band 
Pours  forth,  and  leaves  unpeopled  half  the  land.     20 

REMARKS. 

strated,  that  his  brothers,  at  Bedlam,  mentioned  Book  i. 
were  not  brazen,  but  blocks;  yet  our  iiuthor  let  it  pass  un 
altered,  as  a  trifle  tbat  no  way  altered  the  relationship. 

We  should  think,  gentle  reader,  that  we  but  ill  performed 
our  part,  if  we  corrected  not  as  well  our  own  errors  now,  as 
formerly  those  of  the  printer;  since  what  moved  us  to  this 
work,  was  solely  the  love  of  truth,  not  in  the  least  any  vain 
glory,  or  desire  to  contend  with  great  authors.  And  fur 
ther,  our  mistakes,  we  conceive,  will  the  rather  be  pardoned, 
as  scarce  possible  to  be  avoided  in  writing  of  such  persons 
and  works  as  do  ever  shun  the  light.  However,  that  we 
may  not  any  how  soften  or  extenuate  the  same,  we  give 
them  thee  in  the  very  words  of  our  antagonists  ;  not  defend 
ing,  but  retracting  them  from  our  heart,  and  craving  excuse 
of  the  parties  offended :  for  surely  in  this  work,  it  hath  been 
above  all  things  our  desire  to  provoke  no  man.  Scribl. 

Ver.  15.  Rome  in  her  Capitol  saw  Querno  sit.]  Camillo 
Querno  was  of  Apulia,  who  hearing  the  great  encourage 
ment  which  Leo  X.  gave  to  poets,  travelled  to  Rome  with  n 
harp  in  his  hand,  and  sung  to  it  twenty  thousand  verses  of  a 
poem  called  Alexias.  He  was  introduced  as  a  buffoon  to 
Leo,  and  promoted  to  the  honour  of  the  laurel;  a  jest  which 
the  court  of  Rome  and  the  pope  himself  entered  into  so  far, 
ns  to  cause  him  to  ride  on  an  elephant  to  the  Capitol,  and 
to  hold  a  solemn  festival  on  his  coronal  ion  ;  at  which  it  n 
recorded  the  poet  himself  was  so  transported  as  to  weep  for 


THE  DUNCIAD.  21» 

A  motley  mixture  !  in  long  wigs,  in  bags, 
In  silks,  in  crapes,  in  garters,  and  in  rags, 
From  drawing-rooms,  from  colleges,  from  garrets, 
On  horse,  on  foot,  in  hacks,  and  gilded  chariots : 
All  who  true  Dunces  in  her  cause  appear'd, 
And  all  who  knew  those  Dunces  to  reward. 

Amid  that  area  wide  they  took  their  stand, 
Where  the  tall  may-pole  once  o'erlook'd  the  Strand, 
But  now  (so  Anne  and  piety  ordain) 
A  church  collects  the  saints  of  Drury-lane.  30 

With  authors,  stationers  obey'd  the  call: 
The  field  of  glory  is  a  field  for  all. 
Glory  and  pain  the  industrious  tribe  provoke ; 
And  gentle  Dulness  ever  loves  a  joke. 
A  poet's  form  she  placed  before  their  eyes, 
And  bade  the  nimblest  racer  seize  the  prize  ; 
No  meagre,  muse-rid  mope,  adust  and  thin, 
In  a  dun  night-gown  of  his  own  loose  skin, 
But  such  a  bulk  as  no  twelve  bards  could  raise, 
Twelve  starving  bards  of  these  degenerate  days.    40 
All  as  a  partridge  plump,  full-fed  and  fair, 
She  form'd  this  image  of  well-bodied  air ; 
With  pert  flat  eyes  she  window'd  well  its  head; 
A  brain  of  feathers,  and  a  heart  of  lead : 
And  empty  words  she  gave,  and  sounding  strain, 
But  senseless,  lifeless  !  idol  void  and  vain! 
Never  was  dash'd  out,  at  one  lucky  hit, 
A  fool,  so  just  a  copy  of  a  wit ; 

REMARKS. 

joy.*  He  was  over  after  a  constant  frequenter  of  the  pope's 
table,  drank  abundantly,  and  poured  forth  verses  without 
number.  Paulus  Jovius,  Elog.  Vir.  Doct.  chap.  Ixxxiii 
Some  idea  of  his  poetry  is  given  by  Fam.  Strada  in  his  Pro 
lusions. 

Ver.  34.  And  gentle  Dulness  ever  loves  a  joke.]  Thli 
species  of  mirth,  called  a  joke,  arising  from  a  mal-entendo 
may  be  well  supposed  to  be  the  delight  of  Dulness. 

Ver.  47.  Never  was  dash'd  out,  at  one  lucky  hit.]  Our 
author  here  seems  willing  to  give  some  account  of  the  uo»- 

*  See  Life  of  C.  C.  ohap.  vi.  p.  149. 


216         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

So  like,  that  critics  said,  and  courtiers  swore, 

A  wit  it  was,  and  call'd  the  phantom  More.  50 

REMARKS. 

sibility  of  Dulness  making  a  wit  (which  could  bo  done  no 
oilier  way  than  by  chance.)  The  fiction  is  the  more  recon 
ciled  to  probability  by  the  known  story  of  Applies,  who, 
being  nt  a  loss  to  express  the  foam  of  Alexander's  horse, 
dashed  his  pencil  in  despair  at  the  picture,  and  happened  to 
do  it  by  that  fortunate  stroke. 

Ver.  50.  And  call'd  the  phantom  More.]  Cuill,  in  his 
Key  to  the  Dunciad,  affirmed  this  to  be  James  Moore 
Smith,  Esq.  and  it  is  probable  (considering  what  is  sairi  of 
him  in  the  testimonies)  that  some  might  fancy  our  author 
obliged  to  represent  this  gentleman  as  a  plagiary,  or  to  pass 
for  one  himself.  His  case,  indeed,  was  like  that  of  a  man  I 
have  heard  of,  who,  as  he  was  sitting  in  company,  perceiv 
ed  his  next  neighbour  had  stolen  his  handkerchief:  '  Sir,' 
said  the  thief,  finding  himself  detected,  'do  not  expose  me,  I 
did  it  for  mere  want;  be  so  good  but  to  take  It  privately  out 
of  my  pocket  again,  and  say  nothing.'  The  honest  man  did 
so,  but  the  other  cried  out,  '  See,  gentlemen,  what  a  thief 
we  have  among  us!  look,  he  is  stealing  my  handkerchief!' 
-Some  time  before,  he  had  borrowed  of  Dr.  Arbuthnot  a 
paper  called  a  Historieo-physical  account,  of  the  South  Sea; 
and  of  Mr.  Pope  the  memoirs  of  a  Parish  Clerk,  which  for 
two  years  he  kept,  and  read  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Young,  F.  Bil- 
lers,  Esq.  and  many  others,  as  his  own.  Being  Applied  to 
for  them,  he  pretended  they  were  lost;  but  there  happening 
to  be  another  copy  of  the  latter,  it  came  out  in  Swift's  and 
Pope's  Miscellanies.  Upon  this,  it  seems,  he  was  so  far 
mistaken  as  to  confess  his  proceeding  by  nn  endeavour  to 
hide  it:  iinsuardedly  printing  (in  the  Daily  Journal  of  April 
3,  172'!,)  'That  the  contempt  which  he  and  others  had  for 
those  pieces,  (which  only  himself  had  shown,  and  handed 
about  as  his  own,)  occasioned  their  being  lost,  and  for  that 
cause  only  not  returned.'  A  fact,  of  which  as  none  but  ha 
could  be  conscious,  none  but  he  could  be  the  publisher  of  it 
The  plagiarisms  of  this  person  gave  occasion  to  the  follow 
ing  epigram: 

'  Moore  always  smiles  whenever  he  recites; 

He  smiles  (you  think)  approving  what  he  writes. 

And  yet  in  this  no  vanity  is  shown ; 

A  modest  man  may  like  what's  not  his  own.' 
This  young  gentleman's  whole  misfortune  was  too  inor 
dinate  a  passion  to  be  thought  a  wit.  Here  is  ,1  very  strong 
instance  attested  by  Mr.  Suvage,  son  of  the  late  Earl  Rivers  ; 
who  having  shown  some  verses  of  his  in  manuscript  to  Mr. 
Moore,  wherein  Mr.  Pope  was  called  first  of  the  tuneful 
train,  Mr.  Moore  the  next  morning  sent  to  Mr.  Savage  to 


THE  DUNC1AD.  217 

All  gaze  with  ardour  :  some  a  poet's  name, 
Others  a  sword-knot  and  laced  suit  inflame. 
But  lofty  Lintot  in  the  circle  rose : 
4  This  prize  is  mine  ;  who  'tempt  it  are  my  foes  : 
With  me  began  this  genius,  and  shall  end.' 
He  spoke ;  and  who  with  Lintot  shall  contend  ? 


desire  him  to  give  those  verses  another,  turn,  to  wit,  '  That 
Pope  might  now  he  the  first,  because  Moore  had  left  him 
unrivalled,  in  turning  h'lB  style  to  comedy.'  This  wasduring 
the  rehearsal  of  the  Rival  Modes,  his  first  and  only  work; 
the  town  condemned  it  in  the  action,  but  he  printed  it  in 
172G-7,  with  this  modest  motto : 

'  Hie  cxstus,  artemque  repono.' 

Tho  smaller  pieces  which  we  have  heard  attributed  to 
this  author  are.  An  Epigram  on  the  Bridge  at  Blenheim,  by 
Dr.  Evans:  Cosmelia,  by  Mr.  Pit,  Mr.  Jones,  &c.  The 
Mock  Marriage  of  a  mad  Divine,  with  a  Cl.  for  a  Parson,  by 
Dr.  W.  The  Saw-pit,  a  Simile,  by  a  Friend.  Certain 
Physical  Works  on  Sir  James  Baker;  and  some  unowned 
Letters,  Advertisements,  and  Epigrams  against  our  author 
in  the  Daily  Journal. 

Notwithstanding  what  is  here  collected  of  the  person  ima 
gined  by  Curll  to  be  meant  in  this  place,  we  cannot  be  of 
that  opinion;  since  our  poet  had  certainly  no  need  of  vin 
dicating  half  a  dozen  verses  to  himself,  which  every  reader 
had  done  for  him  ;  since  the  name  itself  is  not  spelled  Moore, 
but  More;  and,  lastly,  since  the  learned  Scriblerus  has  so 
well  proved  the  contrary. 

Ver.  50.  The  phantom  More.]  It  appears  from  hence, 
thut  this  is  not  the  name  of  a  real  person,  hut  fictitious. 
More  from  /tafof  stultus,  p-afx,  stultitia,  to  represent  the 
folly  of  a  plagiary.  Thus  Erasmus :  Admonuit  me  Mori  cog 
nomen  tibi,  quod  tarn  ad  Marias  vocabulum  accedit  quam 
es  ipse  a,  re  alienus.  Dedication  of  Marias  Encomium  to 
eir  Thomas  More;  the  farewell  of  which  may  be  our  au 
thor's  to  his  plagiary,  Vale,  More!  et  moriani  tuam  gna- 
riter  defende.  Adieu,  More '.  and  be  sure  strongly  to  defend 
thy  own  folly.  Scribl. 

Ver.  53.  But  lofty  Lintot.]  We  enter  here  upon  the 
episode  of  the  booksellers;  persons,  whose  names  being  more 
known  and  famous  in  the  learned  world  than  those  of  the 
authors  in  this  poem,  do  therefore  need  less  explanation. 
The  action  of  Mr.  Lintot  here  imitates  that  of  Dares  in  Vir 
gil,  rising  just  in  this  manner  to  lay  hold  of  a  bull.  Thi» 
eminent  bookseller  printed  the  Rival  Modes  before  men 
tioned. 
VOL.  II.  15 


218 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Fear  held  them  mute.     Alone,  untaught  to  fear, 
Stood  dauntless  Curll :  '  Behold  that  rival  here  1 
The  race  by  vigour,  not  by  vaunts  is  won : 
So  take  the  hindmost,  Hell !'  he  said,  and  run.       60 
Swift  as  a  bard  the  bailiff  leaves  behind, 
He  left  huge  Lintot,  and  out-stnpp'd  the  wind. 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  53.  Stood  dauntless  Curll:]  We  come  now  to  a 
character  of  much  respect,  that  of  Mr.  Edmund  Curll.  As 
a  plain  repetition  of  great  actions  is  the  host  praise  of  them, 
we  shall  only  say  of  this  eminent  man,  that  he  carried  th« 
trade  many  lengths  beyond  what  it  ever  before  arrived  at ; 
and  that  lie  was  the  envy  and  admiration  of  all  his  profes 
sion.  He  possessed  himself  of  a  command  over  all  authors 
whatever:  he  caused  them  to  write  what  he  pleased;  they 
could  not  call  their  very  names  their  own.  He  was  not  only 
famous  among  these;  he  was  taken  notice  of  by  the  state, 
the  church,  and  the  law,  and  received  particular  marks  of 
distinction  from  each. 

It  will  be  owned  that  lie  is  here  introduced  with  all  possi 
ble  dignity.  He  speaks  like  the  intrepid  Diomede  ;  he  runs 
like  the  swift-footed  Achilles  :  if  he  falls,  'tis  like  the  beloved 
Nisus;  and  (what  Homer  makes  to  be  the  chief  of  all  piaises) 
he  is  favoured  of  the  gods:  he  says  but  three  words,  and  hia 
prayer  is  heard;  a  goddess  conveys  it  to  the  seat  of  Jupiter : 
though  he  loses  the  prize,  he  gains  the  victory;  the  great 
mother  herself  comforts  him,  she  inspires  him  with  expe 
dients,  she  honours  him  with  an  immortal  present  (such  as 
Achilles  receives  from  Thetis,  and  ./Eneas  from  Venus,)  at 
once  instructive  and  prophetical:  after  this  he  is  unrivalled, 
and  triumphant. 

The  tribute  our  author  here  pays  him  is  a  grateful  return 
for  several  unmerited  obligations  ;  many  weighty  animad 
versions  on  the  public  affairs,  and  many  excellent  and  divert 
ing  pieces  on  private  persons,  has  he  given  to  his  name.  If 
ever  he  owed  two  verses  to  any  other,  he  owed  Mr.  Curll 
some  thousands.  He  was  every  day  extending  his  fame, 
and  enlarging  his  writings:  witness  innumerable  instances  ; 
but  it  shall  suffice  only  to  mention  the  Court  Poems,  which 
he  meant  to  publish  as  the  work  of  the  true  writer,  a  lady 
of  ((utility  ;  but  being  threatened  first,  and  afterwards  pun 
ished  for  it  by  Mr.  Pope,  he  generously  transferred  it  from 
her  to  him,  and  ever  since  printed  it  in  his  name.  The  single 
time  that  ever  he  spoke  to  Mr.  C.  was  on  that  affair,  and 
to  that  happy  incident  he  owed  all  the  favour  since  received 
from  him:  so  true  is  the  saying  of  Dr.  Sydenham,  'that 
any  one  shall  be,  at  some  time  or  other,  the  better  or  th« 
worse,  for  having  but  seen  or  spoken  to  a  good  or  bad  man 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


219 


As  when  a  dab-chick  waddles  through  the  copse 
On  feet  and  wings,  and  flies,  and  wades,  and  hops: 
So  labouring  on,  with  shoulder,  hands,  and  head, 
Wide  as  a  wind-mill  all  his  figure  spread, 
With  arms  expanded  Bernard  rows  his  state, 
And  left-legg'd  Jacob  seems  to  emulate. 
Full  in  the  middle  way  there  stood  a  lake 
Which  Curll's  Corinna  chanced  that  morn  to  make  ; 
(Such  was  her  wont,  at  early  dawn  to  drop  7 

Her  evening  cates  before  his  neighbour's  shop) 
Here  fortuned  Curll  to  slide ;  loud  shout  the  band, 
And  Bernard  !  Bernard  !  rings  through  all  the  Strand. 
Obscene  with  filth  the  miscreant  lies  bewray'd, 
Fall'n  in  the  plash  his  wickedness  had  laid : 
Then  first  (if  poets  aught  of  truth  declare) 
The  caitiff  vaticide  conceived  a  prayer : 

'  Hear,  Jove !  whose  name  my  bards  and  I  adore, 
As  much  at  least  as  any  gods  or  more  ;  80 

And  him  and  his  if  more  devotion  warms, 
Down  with  the  Bible,  up  with  the  pope's  arms.' 

A  place  there  is,  betwixt  earth,-  air,  and  seas, 
Vi  here,  from  ambrosia,  Jove  retires  for  ease. 
There  in  his  seat  two  spacious  vents  appear, 
On  this  he  sits,  to  that  he  leans  his  ear, 
And  hears  the  various  vows  of  fond  mankind  ; 
Some  beg  an  eastern,  some  a  western  wind  ; 


REMARKS. 

Ver.  70.  Curll's  Corinna.]  This  name,  it  seems,  was 
tnken  by  one  Mrs.  Thomas,  who  pro.-ured  some  private 
letters  of  Mr.  Pope,  whil'i  almost  a  hoy,  to  Mr.  Cromwell, 
and  sold  them  without  lite  consent  of  either  of  those  srentle- 
men,  to  Curll,  who  printed  them  in  12mo,  1727.  He  dis 
covered  her  to  be  the  publisher,  in  his  Key,  p.  11.  We  onl» 
take  this  opportunity  of  mentioning  the  manner  in  which 
those  letters  got  abroad,  which  the  author  was  ashamed  of 
as  very  trivial  things,  full  not  only  of  levities,  but  of  wrong 
judgments  of  men  and  books,  and  only  excusable  from  tha 
youth  and  inexperience  of  the  writer. 

Ver.  82.  Down  with  the  Bible,  up  with  the  pope's  arms.] 
The  Bible,  Curll's  sign  ;  the  Cross  Keys,  Lintot's. 


220         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

All  vain  petitions  mounting  to  the  sky, 
With  reams  abundant  this  abode  supply  ;  90 

Amused  he  reads,  and  then  returns  the  bills 
Sign'd  with  that  ichor  which  from  gods  distills. 

In  office  here  fair  Cloacina  stands, 
And  ministers  to  Jove  with  purest  hands. 
Forth  from  the  heap  she  pick'd  her  votary's  prayer, 
And  placed  it  next  him,  a  distinction  rare  ! 
Oft  had  the  goddess  heard  her  servant's  call, 
From  her  black  grottos  near  the  Temple-wall, 
Listening  delighted  to  the  jest  unclean 
Of  link-boys  vile,  and  waterman  obscene;  100 

Where,  as  he  fish'd  her  nether  realms  for  wit, 
She  oft  had  favour'd  him,  and  favours  yet. 
Renew'd  by  ordure's  sympathetic  force, 
As  oil'd  with  magic  juices  for  the  course, 
Vigorous  he  rises  ;  from  the  effluvia  strong, 
Imbibes  new  life,  and  scours  and  stinks  along  : 
Re-passes  Lintot,  vindicates  the  race, 
Nor  heeds  the  brown  dishonours  of  his  face. 

And  now  the  victor  stretch'd  his  eager  hand 
Where  the  tall  nothing  stood  or  seem'd  to  stand  :  110 
A  shapeless  shade,  it  melted  from  his  sight, 
Like  forms  in  clouds,  or  visions  of  the  night. 
To  seize  his  papers,  Curll,  was  next  thy  care  ; 
His  papers  light,  fly  diverse,  toss'd  in  air  : 
Songs,  sonnets,  epigrams,  the  winds  uplift, 
And  whisk  them  back  to  Evans,  Young,  and  Swift. 
The  embroider'd  suit  at  least  he  deem'd  his  prey, 
That  suit  an  unpaid  tailor  snatch'd  away. 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  101.  Where,  as  he  fish'd,  &c.]  See  the  preface  to 
Swift's  and  Pope's  Miscellanies. 

Ver.  116.  Evans,  Young,  and  Swift.]  Some  of  tlioso 
persons,  whose  writings,  epigrams,  or  jests  he  had  owned. 
See  note  on  ver.  50. 

Ver.  118.  An  unpaid  tailor]  This  line  has  been  loudly 
complained  of  in  Mist,  June  8,  Dedicated  to  Sawney,  and 
others,  as  a  most  inhuman  satire  on  the  poverty  of  poets 


THE  DUNCIA1).  2*1 

No  rag,  no  scrap,  of  all  the  beau  or  wit, 

That  once  so  flutter'd,  and  that  once  so  writ.         I*1 

Heaven  rings  with  laughter:  of  the  laughter  vaiii 
Dulness,  good  queen,  repeats  the  jest  again. 
Three  wicked  imps,  of- her  own  Grub-street  choir, 
She  deck'd  like  Congreve,  Addison  and  Prior; 
Hears,  Warner,  Wilkins,  run  !  delusive  thought ! 
Crev.il,  Bond,  Cesaleel,  the  varlets  caught. 
Curll  stretches  after  Gay,  but  Gay  is  gone, 
lie  grasps  an  empty  Joseph  for  a  John  : 

REMARKS. 

out  it  is  thought  our  aullior  will  bo  acquitted  by  a  jury  of 
tailors.  To  me  "this  instance  seems  unluckily  chosen  ;  if  it 
bo  a  satire  on  any  body,  it  must  be  on  a  bad  pay-master 
vince  the  person  to  whom  they  have  here  applied  it,  was  a 
man  of  fortune.  Not  but  poets  may  well  be  jealous  of  sa 
great  a  prerogative  as  non-payment;  which  Mr.  Dennis  so 
far  asserts,  as  boldly  to  pronounce,  that,  'if  Homer  himself 
was  not  in  debt,  it  was  because  nobody  would  trust  liim.' — 
I'ref.  to  Hem.  on  tho  Rape  of  the  Lock,  p.  15. 

Ver.  124.  Like  Congreve,  Addison,  uod  Prior ;")  These 
aulhors  being  such  whose  names  will  reach  posterity,  we 
shall  not  give  any  account  of  them,  but  proceed  to  those  of 
whom  it  is  necessary. — Besalee)  Morris  was  author  of  some 
entires  on  the  translators  of  Homer,  with  many  other  tilings 
printed  in  newspapers — '  Bond  writ  a  satire  against  Mr.  P — . 
Capt.  Breval  was  author  of  the  Confederates,  an  ingenious 
dramatic  performance,  to  expose  Mr.  P.,  Mr.  Gay,  Dr. 
Arbuthnot.  ami  some  ladies  of  quality,'  says  Curll,  Key,  p.  11. 

Ver.  l'J5.  Mears,  Warner,  Wiikins]"  Booksellers  and 
Printers  of  much  anonymous  stuff. 

Ver.  120.  Breval,  Bond,  Besaleel,]  I  foresee  it  will  be 
objected  from  this  line,  that  we  were  in  an  error  in  our  as 
sertion  on  ver.  50  of  this  book,  that  More  was  a  fictitious 
name,  since  those  persons  are  equally  represented  by  the 
poet  as  phantoms.  So  at  first  sight  it  may  be  seen  ;  but  be 
not  deceived,  reader ;  these  also  are  not  real  persons.  'Tis 
true,  Curll  declares  Breval  a  captain,  author  of  a  piece  ca  1- 
ed  The  Confederates ;  but  the  same  Curll  first  said  it  was 
written  by  Joseph  Gay.  Is  his  second  assertion  to  be  credit 
ed  any  more  than  his  fust  7  lie  likewise  affirms  Bond  to  be 
one  who  writ  a  satire  on  our  poet:  hut  where  is  such  n 
satire  to  be  found  7  where  was  such  a  writer  ever  heard  of7 
As  for  Besaleel,  it  carries  forgery  in  the  very  name;  nor  is 
't,  as  the  others  are,  a  surname.  Thou  mayest  depend  upon 
t  no  such  authors  ever  lived :  ail  phantoms.  Scribl. 

Vrr.   1^3.     Jiis"ph  Gav,  ><  fictitious  name  pnt  by  Curll 


^22         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

So  Proteus,  hunted  in  a  nobler  shape, 

Became,  when  seized,  a  puppy  or  an  ape.  130 

To  him  the  goddess  :  '  Son  !  thy  grief  lay  down, 
And  turn  this  whole  illusion  on  the  town : 
As  the  sage  dame,  experienced  in  her  trade, 
By  names  of  toasts  retails  each  batter'd  jade  ; 
(Whence  hapless  Monsieur  much  complains  at  Paris 
Of  wrongs  from  duchesses  and  lady  Maries  ;) 
Be  thine,  my  stationer  !  this  magic  gift ; 
Cook  shall  be  Prior  :  and  Concanen,  Swift : 
So  shall  eacii  hostile  name  become  our  own, 
And  we  too  boast  our  Garth  and  Addison.'  140 

REMARKS. 

before  several  pamphlets,  which  made  them  pass  with  many 
for  Mr.  Gay's. — The  ambiguity  of  the  word  Joseph,  which 
likewise  signifies  a  loose  upper  coat,  gives  much  pleasantry 
to  the  idea. 

Ver.  132.  And  turn  this  whole  illusion  on  the  town  :]  It 
was  a  common  praciice  of  this  bookseller  to  publish  vile 
pieces  of  obscure  hands  under  the  names  of  eminent  authors. 

Ver.  138.  Cook  shall  be  Prior ;]  The  man  here  specified 
writ  a  thing  called  The  Battle  of  the  Poets,  in  which  Phillips 
and  Welsted  were  the  heroes,  and  Swift  and  Pope  utterly 
routed.  Ke  also  published  some  malevolent  things  in  the 
British,  London,  and  Daily  Journals;  and  at  the  same  time 
wrote  letters  to  Mr.  Pope,  protesting  his  innocence.  His 
chief  work  was  a  translation  of  llesiod,  in  which  Theobald 
writ  notes  and  half  notes,  which  he  carefully  owned. 

Ver.  138.  And  Concanen,  Swift:]  In  the  fust  edition 
of  this  poem  there  were  only  asterisks  in  this  place,  but  the 
names  were  since  inserted,  merely  to  fill  up  the  verse,  and 
give  ease  to  the  ear  of  the  reader. 

Ver.  140.  And  we  too  boast  our  Garth  and  Addison.] 
Nothing  is  more  remarkable  than  our  author's  love  of  prais 
ing  good  writers.  He  has  in  this  very  poctn  celebrated  Mr. 
Locke,  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  Dr.  Barrow,  Dr.  Alterbury,  Mr 
Dryden,  Mr.  Congreve,  Dr.  Garth,  Mr.  Addison;  in  a  word, 
almost  every  man  of  his  time  that  deserved  it ;  even  Cibbcr 
himself,  (presuming  him  to  be  the  author  of  the  Careless 
Husband.)  It  was  very  difficult  to  have  that  pleasure  in  a 
poem  on  this  subject,  yet  ho  hns  found  moans  to  insert  their 
panegyric,  and  has  made  even  Dulness  out  of  h^r  own 
mouth  pronounce  it.  It  must  have  been  particularly  ngrcea- 
ble  to  him  to  celebrate  Dr.  Garth;  both  as  his  constant 
friend,  and  as  he  was  his  predecessor  in  this  kind  of  satire. 
The  Dispensary  attacked  thu  whole  body  of  apothecaries,  c 


THE  DUNCIAD.  223 

With  that  she  gave  him  (piteous  of  his  case, 
^et  smiling  at  his  rueful  length  efface) 

REMARKS. 

mucli  more  useful  one  undoubtedly  than  that  of  the  bad 
poets  ;  if  in  truth  this  can  be  a  body,  of  which  no  two  mem 
bers  ever  agreed.  It  also  did,  what  Mr.  Theobald  says  IB 
unpardonable,  draw  in  parts  of  private  character,  and  intro 
duce  persons  independent  of  his  subject.  Much  more  would 
Boileau  have  incurred  his  censure,  who  left  all  subjects 
whatever,  on  all  occasions,  to  fall  upon  the  bad  poeU 
(which,  it  is  to  be  feared,  would  have  been  more  immedi 
ately  his  concern.)  But  certainly  next  to  commending  good 
writers,  the  greatest  service  to  learning  is  to  expose  the  bad, 
who  can  only  that  way  be  made  of  any  use  to  it.  This 
truth  is  very  well  set  forth  in  these  lines,  addressed  to  our 
author: 

'The  craven  rook,  and  pert  jackdaw 
(Though  neither  birds  of  moral  kind,) 

Yet  serve  if  hang'd,  or  stuff 'd  with  straw, 
To  show  us  which  way  blows  the  wind. 

'Thus  dirty  knaves,  or  chattering  fools, 

Strung  up  by  dozens  in  thy  lay, 
Teach  more  by  half  than  Dennis'  rules, 

And  point  instruction  every  way. 

'  With  Egypt's  art  thy  pen  may  strive  : 

One  potent  drop  let  this  but  shed, 
And  every  rogue  that  stunk  alive, 

Becomes  a  precious  mummy  dead. 

Ver.  142.  Rueful  length  of  face.]  '  The  decrepit  person 
or  figure  of  a  man  are  no  reflections  upon  his  genius.  An 
honest  mind  will  love  and  esteem  a  man  of  worth,  though 
he  be  deformed  or  poor.  Yet  the  author  of  the  Dunciad 
hath  libelled  a  person  for  his  rueful  length  of  face!'  Mist's 
Journal,  June  8.  This  genius  and  man  of  worth,  whom  an 
honest  mind  should  love,  is  Mr.  Curll.  True  it  is,  he  stood 
in  the  pillory,  an  incident  which  will  lengthen  the  face  of 
any  man,  though  it  wore  ever  so  comely,  therefore  is  no  re 
flection  on  the  natural  beauty  of  Mr.  Curll.  But  as  to  re 
flections  on  any  man's  face  or  figure,  Mr.  Dennis  saith 
excellently;  'Natural  deformity  comes  not  by  our  fault ;  it 
is  often  occasioned  by  calamities  and  disea*"s,  which  a  man 
can  no  more  help  than  a  monster  can  his  deiormity.  There 
is  no  one  misfortune,  and  no  one  disease,  hut  what  all  the 
rest  of  mankind  are  subject  to. — Tiut  the  deformity  of"  this 
author  is  visible,  present,  lasting,  unalterable,  and  peculiar 
M  himself.  'Tis  the  mark  of  God  and  nature  upon  him,  t€ 


224          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

A  shaggy  tapestry,  worthy  to  be  spread 
On  Codrus'  old,  or  Dunton's  modern  bed : 

REMARKS. 

give  us  warning  that  we  should  hold  no  society  with  him, 
as  a  creature  not  of  our  original,  nor  of  our  species:  and  they 
who  have  refused  to  take  this  warning  which  God  and  na 
ture  has  given  them,  and  have,  in  spite  of  it,  by  a  senseless 
presumption  ventured  to  he  familiar  with  him,  have  severely 
suffered,  &c.  'Tis  certain  his  original  is  not  from  Adam, 
but  from  the  devil,'  &c. — Dennis,  Character  of  Mr.  P. 
octavo,  1716. 

Admirably  it  is  observed  by  Mr.  Dennis  against  Mr  Law, 
p.  33.  'That  the  language  of  Billingsgate  can  never  he  the 
language  of  charity,  nor  consequently  of  Christianity.'  I 
should  else  be  tempted  to  use  the  language  of  a  critic ;  for 
what  is  more  provoking  to  a  commentator,  than  to  behold 
his  author  thus  portrayed?  Yet  I  consider  it  really  hurts 
not  him!  whereas  to  call  some  others  dull,  might  do  them 
prejudice  with  a  world  too  apt  to  believe  it.  Therefore, 
though  Mr.  D.  may  call  another  a  little  ass,  or  a  young  toad, 
far  be  it  from  us  to  call  him  a  toothless  lion,  or  an  old  ser 
pent.  Indeed,  had  I  written  these  notes  (as  was  once  my 
intent)  in  the  learned  language,  I  might  have  given  him  the 
appellations  balatro,  calccatum  ctiput,  scurra  in  triviis, 
being  phrases  in  good  esteem  and  frequent  usage  among 
the  best  learned :  but  in  our  mother-tongue,  were  I  to  tax 
any  gentleman  of  the  Dunciad,  surely  it  would  bo  in  words 
not  to  the  vulgar  intelligible;  whereby  Christian  charity, 
decency,  and  good  accord  among  authors,  might  be  pre 
served.  Scribl. 

The  good  Scriblerus  here,  as  on  all  occasions,  eminently 
shows  his  humanity.  But  it  was  far  otherwise  with  the 
gentlemen  of  the  Dunciad,  whose  scurrilities  were  always 
personal,  and  of  that  nature  which  provoked  every  honest 
man  but  Mr.  Pope ;  yet  never  to  be  lamented,  since  they  oc 
casioned  the  following  amiable  verses  : 

'While  malice,  Pope,  denies  thy 'page 

Its  own  celestial  fire; 
While  critics,  and  while  bards  in  rage, 

Admiring,  won't  admire: 

While  wayward  pens  thy  worth  assail, 

And  envious  tongues  decry  ; 
These  times,  though  many  a  friend  bewail, 

These  times  bewail  not  I. 
But  when  the  world's  loud  praise  is  thine, 

And  spleen  no  more  shall  blame, 
When  with  thy  Homer  thou  shall  shine 

In  one  established  fame: 


THE  DUNCIAD.  223 

Instructive  work  !  whose  wry-mouth'd  portraiture 
Display'd  the  fates  her  confessors  endure. 
Earless  on  high,  stood  unabash'd  De  Foe, 
And  Tutchin  flagrant  from  the  scourge  below. 
There  Ridpath,  Roper,  cudgell'd  might  ye  view, 
The  very  worsted  still  look'd  black  and  blue.         150 
Himself  among  the  storied  chiefs  he  spies, 
As,  from  the  blanket,  high  in  air  he  flies, 
'And,  oh!'  he  cried, '  what  street,  what  lane,  but  knows 
Our  purgings,  pumpings,  blanketings,  and  blows ! 
In. every  loom  our  labours  shall  be  seen, 
And  the  fresh  vomit  run  for  ever  green  !' 

REMARKS. 

When  none  shall  rail,  and  every  lay 

Devote  a  wreath  to  thee  ; 
That  day  (for  come  it  will,)  that  day 
Shall  I  lament  to  see.' 

Ver.  143.  A  shaggy  tapestry;]  A  sorry  kind  of  tapestry 
frequent  in  old  inns,  made  of  worsted  or  some  coarser  stuff; 
like  that  which  is  spoken  of  by  Donne. — Faces  as  frightful 
ns  theirs  who  whip  Christ  in  old  hangings.  This  imagery 
woven  in  it  alludes  to  the  mantle  of  Cloanthus,  in  JEn.  v. 

Ver.  144.  John  Dunton  was  a  broken  bookseller,  and 
abusive  scribbler  ;  he  writ  Neck  or  Nothing,  a  violent  satire 
on  some  ministers  of  slate;  a  libel  on  the  duke  of  Devon 
shire,  and  the  bishop  of  Peterborough,  &c. 

Ver.  148.  And  Tutchin  flagrant  from  the  scourge.]  John 
Tulchin,  author  of  some  vile  verses,  and  of  a  weekly  paper 
called  the  Observator.  He  was  sentenced  to  be  whipped 
through  several  towns  in  the  west  of  England,  upon  which 
he  petitioned  king  James  II.  to  be  hanged.  When  that 
prince  died  in  exile,  he  wrote  an  invective  against  his  me 
mory,  occasioned  by  some  humane  elegies  on  his  death.  Ho 
lived  to  the  time  of  queen  Anne. 

Ver.  14!).  There  Ridpath,  Roper,]  Authors  of  thn  Fly 
ing-post  and  Post-boy,  two  scandalous  papers  on  different 
sides,  for  which  they  equally  and  alternately  deserved  to  be 
cudgelled,  and  were  so. 

Ver.  151.  Himself  among  the  storied  chiefs  he  spies,] 
The  history  of  Curll's  being  tossed  in  a  blanket,  and  whip 
ped  by  the  scholars  of  Westminster,  is  well  known.  Of  hii 
purging  and  vomiting,  see  A  full  and  true  Account  of  a  hor- 
rid  Revenge  on  the  Body  of  Edmund  Curll,  &c.  in  Swift's 
and  Pope's  Miscellanies. 


226 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 


See  in  the  circle  next  Eli/a  placed, 
Two  babes  of  love  close  clinging  to  her  waist , 
Fair  as  before  her  works  she  stands  confoss'd, 
In  flowers  and  pearls  by  bounteous  Kirkall  dress'd. 
The  goddess  then :  '  Who  best  can  send  on  high  161 
The  salient  spout,  far  streaming  to  the  sky  ; 
His  be  yon  Juno  of  majestic  size, 
With  cow-like  udders,  and  with  ox-like  eyes. 
This  China  Jordan  let  the  chief  o'ercome 
Replenish,  not  ingloriously,  at  home.' 

Osborne  and  Curll  accept  the  glorious  strife  : 
(Though  this  his  son  dissuades,  and  that  his  wife,) 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  157.  See  in  the  circle  next,  Eliza  placed,]  In  this 
name  is  exposed,  in  the  most  contemptuous  manner,  the 
profligate  licentiousness  of  those  shameless  scribblers  (lor 
Ihe  most  part  of  that  sex  which  ought  least  to  be  capable 
of  such  malice  or  impudence)  who,  in  libellous  memoirs 
and  novels,  reveal  the  faults  or  misfortunes  of  both  sexes,  to 
the  ruin  of  public  fame,  or  disturbance  of  private  happiness. 
Our  good  poet  (by  the  whole  cast  of  his  work  being  obliged 
not  to  take  off  the  irony)where  he  could  not  show  his  indig 
nation,  hath  shown  his  contempt,  as  much  as  possible  ;  hay 
ing  here  drawn  as  vile  a  picture  as  could  be  represented  in 
the  colours  of  epic  poesy.  Scribl. 

Ibid.  Eliza  Hay  wood;  this  woman  was  authoress  or 
those  most  scandalous  books  called  the  Court  of  Carimania 
and  the  New  Utopia.  For  the  two  babes  of  love,  see  Curll, 
Key,  p.  20.  But  whatever  reflection  he  is  pleased  to  throw 
upon  this  lady,  surely  it  was  what  from  him  she  little  de 
served,  who  had  celebrated  Curll's  undertakings  for  rofor 
mation  of  manners,  and  declared  herself  'to  be  so  perfectly 
acquainted  with  the  sweetness  of  his  disposition,  and  that 
tenderness  with  which  he  considered  the  errors  of  his  fellow 
creatures,  that,  though  she  should  find  the  little  inadverten 
cies  of  her  own  life  recorded  in  his  papers,  she  was  certain 
it  would  be  done  in  such  a  manner  as  she  could  not  but  ap 
prove.'  Mrs.  Flay  wood,  Hist  of  Clar.  printed  in  the  Female 
Duncind,  p.  1^. 

Ver.  160.  Kirkall]  The  name  of  an  engraver.  Some  of 
this  lady's  works  were  printed  in  four  volumes  in  12mo, 
with  her  pictuie  thus  dressed  up  before  them. 

Ver.  K)7.  Oshorno,  Thomas]  A  bookseller  in  Gray's- 
Fnn,  very  well  qualified  by  his  impudence  to  act  this  part; 
therefore  placed  here  instead  of  a  less  deserving  predecea- 
»or.  [Chapman,  the  publisher  of  Mrs.  Haywood's  New 


THE  DUNCIAD.  227 

One  on  his  manly  confidence  relies, 
One  on  his  vigour  and  superior  size.  170 

First  Osborne  lean'd  against  his  letter'd  pott : 
It  rose,  and  labour'd  to  a  curve  at  most. 
So  Jove's  bright  bow  displays  its  watery  round 
(Sure  sign  that  no  spectator  shall  be  drown'd.) 
A  second  effort  brought  but  new  disgrace, 
The  wild  meander  wash'd  the  artist's  face  : 
Thus  the  small  jet,  which  hasty  hands  unlock, 
Spirts  in  the  gardener's  eyes  who  turns  the  cock. 
Not  so  from  shameless  Curll  ;  impetuous  spread 
The  stream,  and  smoking  flourished  o'er  his  head. 
So  (famed  like  thee  for  turbulence  and  horns)        181 
Kridanus  his  humble  fountain  scorns; 
Through  half  the  heavens  he  pours  the  exalted  urn ; 
His  rapid  waters  in  their  passage  burn. 
.    Swift  as  it  mounts,  all  follow  with  their  eyes  : 
Still  happy  impudence  obtains  the  prize. 
Thou  triumph' st  victor  of  the  high-wrought  day, 
And  the  pleased  dame,  soft  smiling,  lead'st  away. 

REMARKS. 

Utopia,  &c.]  This  man  published  advertisements  for  a 
year  together,  pretending  to  sell  Mr.  Pope's  subscription 
books  of  Homer's  Iliad  at  half  tin;  price:  of  which  book  he 
had  none,  but  cut  lo  the  size  of  them  (which  was  quarto) 
the  common  books  in  folio,  without  copper-plates,  on  a 
worse  paper,  and  never  above  half  the  value. 

Upon  this  advertisement  the  Gazetteer  harangued  thus, 
July  0,  1739;  '  How  melancholy  must  it  be  to  a  writer  to  be 
BO  unhappy  as  to  see  his  works  hawked  for  sale  in  a  manner 
BO  fatal  lo  his  fame!  How,  with  honour  to  yourself,  and 
justice  to  your  subscribers,  can  this  be  done?  What  an  in 
gratitude  to  be  charged  on  the  only  honest  poet  that  lived  in 
1738!  and  than  whom  virtue  has  not  had  a  shriller  trumpeter 
for  many  ages!  That  you  were  once  generally  admired  and 
esteemed,  can  be  denied  by  none;  but  that  you  and  your 
works  are  now  despised,  is  verified  by  this  fact ;'  which 
being  utterly  false,  did  not  much  indeed  humble  the  author, 
but  drew  this  just  chastisement  on  the  bookseller. 

Ver.  183.  Through  half  the  heavens  he  pours  the  exalted 
urn;]  In  a  manuscript  Dunciad  (where  are  some  marginal 
torrections  of  some  gentlemen  some  time  deceased)  I  have 
found  another  reading  of  these  lines:  thus, 


228         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Osborne,  through  perfect  modesty  o'ercome, 
Crown'd  with  the  Jordan,  walks  contented  home. 

But  notv  for  authors  nobler  palms  remain  ;         191 
Room  for  my  lord  !  three  jockeys  in  his  train  ; 
Six  huntsmen  with  a  shout  precede  his  chair : 
He  grins,  and  looks  broad  nonsense  with  a  stare. 
His  honour's  meaning  Dulness  thus  express'd, 
He  wins  his  patron  who  can  tickle  best.' 

He  chinks  his  purse,  and  takes  his  seat  of  state : 
With  ready  quills  the  dedicators  wait ; 
Now  at  his  head  the  dexterous  task  commence, 
And,  instant,  fancy  feels  the  imputed  sense;          200 
Now  gentle  touches  wanton  o'er  his  face, 
He  struts  Adonis,  and  affects  grimace  : 

REMARKS. 

'And  lifts  his  urn,  through  halt' the  heavens  to  flow; 
His  rapid  waters  in  their  passage  glow.' 
Tins  I  cannot  but  think  the  right :  for,  first,  though  the  dif 
ference  between  burn  and  glow  may  seem  not  very  material 
to  others,  to  me  I  confess  the  latter  has  an  elegance,  a  je 
tie  scay  quay,  which  is  much  easier  to  be  conceived  than  ex 
plained.     Secondly,  every  reader  of  our  poet  must  have  ob 
served  how  frequently  he  uses  this  word,  glow,  in  other 
parts  of  his  works:  to  instance  only  in  his  Homer: 
(1.)  Iliad  ix.  ver.  726. — With  one  resentment  glowB. 
(2.1  Iliad  xi.  ver.  626.— There  the  battle  glows. 
(3.)  Ibid.  ver.  985. — The  closing  flesh  that  instant  ceased 

to  glow. 

4.)  Iliad  xii.  ver.  45. — Encompass'd  Hector  glows. 
(5.)  Ibid.  ver.  475. — His  beating  breast  with  generous  ar 
dour  glows. 

(6.)  Iliad  xviii.  ver.  591.— Another  partglow'd  with  reful 
gent  arms. 
(7.)  Ibid.  ver.  654. — And  curl'd  on  silver  props  in  order 

glow. 

I  am  afraid  of  growing  too  luxuriant  in  examples,  or  1 
Ctuld  stretch  this  catalogue  to  a  great  extent;  but  these  aro 
enough  to  prove  his  fondness  for  this  beautiful  word,  which, 
therefore,  let  all  future  editions  replace  here. 

I  am  aware,  after  all,  that  burn  is  the  proper  word  to 
convey  an  idea  of  what  was  said  to  be  Mr.  Curll's  condi 
tion  at  this  time ;  but  from  that  very  reason  I  infer  the  direct 
contrary.  For  surely  every  lover  of  our  author  will  con 
clude  he  had  more  humanity  than  to  insult  a  man  on  euch  n 
misfortune  or  calamity,  which  could  nuver befall  him  purely 


THE  DUNCIAD. 

Rolli  the  feather  to  his  ear  conveys, 
Then  his  nice  taste  directs  our  operas  : 
Bentley  his  mouth  with  classic  flattery  opes, 
And  the  pufF'd  orator  bursts  out  in  tropes. 
But  Welsted  most  the  poet's  healing  balm 
Strives  to  extract  from  his  soft,  giving  palm. 


22J 


REMARKS. 

by  his  own  fault,  but  from  an  unhappy  communication  with 
another.  This  note  is  half  Air.  Theobald,  half  Scribl. 

Ver.  203.  Paolo  Antonio  Rolli,!  An  Italian  poet  and 
writer  of  many  operas  in  that  language,  which,  partly  by 
the  help  of  his  genius,  prevailed  in  England  near  twenty 
years.  He  taught  Italian  to  some  fine  gentlemen,  who  at- 
I'ected  to  direct  the  operas. 

Ver.  205.  Bentley  his  mouth,  &.C.]  Not  spoken  of  the 
famous  Dr.  Richard  Beiilley,  but  ot  one  Tho.  Kentley,  a 
small  critic,  who  aped  his  uncle  in  a  little  Horace.  The 
great  one  was  intended  lo  be  dedicated  to  the  lord  Halifax, 
but  (on  a  change  of  the  ministry)  was  given  to  the  earl  of 
Oxford  •  for  which  reason  the  little  one  was  dedicated  to  his 
son  the  lord  llarley. 

Ver.  207.  Welsted.]  Leonard  Welsted,  author  of  the 
Triumvirate,  or  a  Letter  in  Verse  from  Pala-mon  to  Celia 
at  Bath,  which  was  meant  lor  a  satire  on  Mr.  P.  and  some 
of  his  friends  about  the  year  1718.  He  writ  other  things 
which  we  cannot  remember,  pmedley,  in  his  Metamorpho 
sis  of  Scribltrus,  mentions  one,  the  Hymn  of  a  Gentleman  to 
his  Creator:  and  them  was  another,  in  praise  either  of  a 
Cellar  or  a  Gnrret.  L.  W.  characterized  in  thellipi  BxScv;, 
or  the  Art  of  Sinking,  as  a  didapper,  and  after  as  an  eel,  ii 
said  to  be  this  person,  by  Dennis,  Daily  Journal  of  May  11, 
1728.  He  was  also  characterized  under  another  animal,  a 
mole,  by  the  author  of  the  ensuing  simile,  which  was  hand 
ed  about  at  the  same  time: 

'Dear  Welsted,  mark,  in  dirty  hole 
That  painful  animal,  a  mole: 
Above  ground  never  born  to  grow  ; 
What  i    ighty  stir  it  keeps  below ! 
To  ma   e  a  mole-hill  all  hisAtrife! 
It  digs  pokes,  undermines  for  life, 
How  proud  a  little  dirt  to  spread  ; 
Conscious  of  nothing  o'er  its  head  ! 
Till,  labouring  on,  for  want  of  eyes, 
It  blunders  into  light  and  dies.' 

You  have  him  ngain  in  book  Hi.  ver.  160. 


230 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Unlucky  Wclsted  !  thy  unfeeling  master, 

The  more  thou  ticklest,  gripes  his  fist  the  faster.    210 

While  thus  each  hand  promotes  the  pleasing  pain, 
And  quick  sensations  skip  from  vein  to  vein  ; 
A  youth  unknown  to  Phoebus,  in  despair, 
Puts  his  last  refuge  all  in  Heaven  and  prayer. 
What  force  have  pious  vows  !  the  queen  of  love 
Her  sister  sends,  her  votaress,  from  above  ; 
As,  taught  by  Venus,  Paris  learn'd  the  art 
To  touch  Achilles'  only  tender  part ; 
Secure,  through  her,  the  noble  prize  to  carry, 
He  marches  off,  his  grace's  secretary.  220 

'  Now  turn  to  different  sports,'  the  goddess  cries, 
'  And  learn,  my  sons,  the  wondrous  power  of  noise. 
To  move,  to  raise,  to  ravish  every  heart, 
With  Shakspeare's  nature,  or  with  Jonson's  art, 
Let  others  aim :  'Tis  yours  to  shake  the  soul 
With  thunder  rumbling  from  the  mustard-bowl, 
With  horns  and  trumpets  now  to  madness  swell, 
Now  sink  in  sorrows  with  the  tolling  bell : 
Such  happy  arts  attention  can  command, 
When  fancy  flags,  and  sense  is  at  a  stand.  230 

Improve  we  these.    Three  cat-calls  be  the  bribe 
Of  him,  whose  chattering  shames  the  monkey  tribe  : 
And  his  this  drum,  whose  hoarse  heroic  bass 
Drowns  the  loud  clarion  of  the  braying  ass." 

Now  thousand  tongues  are  heard  in  one  loud  din, 
The  monkey-mimics  rush  discordant  in  : 
'Twas  chattering,  grinning,  mouthing,  jabbering  all, 
And  noise  and  Norton,  brangling  and  Breval, 


Vcr.  220.  With^hunder  rumbling  fro  n  the  mustard 
bowl.]  The  old  way  of  making  thunder  a  ,d  mustard  wer? 
the  same  :  but  since,  it  is  more  advantageously  performed  by 
troughs  of  wood  with  stops  in  them.  Whether  Mr.  Dennis 
was  the  inventor  of  that  improvement,  I  know  not ;  but  it  is 
certain,  that  being  once  at  a  tragedy  of  a  new  author,  he  fell 
into  a  great  passion  at  hearing  some,  and  cried,  "Sdeath* 
that  is  my  thunder.' 


THE  DUNCIAD  231 

Lennis  and  dissonance,  and  captious  art, 
And  snip-snap  short,  and  interruption  smart ;        240 
And  demonstration  thin,  and  theses  thick, 
And  major,  minor,  and  conclusion  quick. 
'  Hold,'  cried  the  queen, '  a  cat-call  each  shall  win  ; 
Equal  your  merits  !  equal  is  your  din  ! 
But  that  this  well-disputed  game  may  end, 
Sound  forth,  my  brayers,  and  the  welkin  rend.' 
As  when  the  long-ear'd  milky  mothers  wait 
At  some  sick  miser's  triple-bolted  gate, 
For  their  defrauded,  absent  foals  they  make 
A  moan  so  loud,  that  all  the  guild  awake  ;  250 

Sore  sighs  sir  Gilbert,  starting  at  the  bray, 
From  dreams  of  millions,  and  three  groats  to  pay  : 
So  swells  each  wind-pipe  :  ass  intones  to  ass, 
Harmonic  twang !  of  leather,  horn,  and  brass  ; 
Such  as  from  labouring  lungs  the  enthusiast  blows, 
High  sounds,  attemper'd  to  the  vocal  nose  ; 
Or  such  as  bellow  from  the  deep  divine ; 
There,  Webster!  peal'd  thy  voice,  and  Whitfield!  thine. 
But  far  o'er  all  sonorous  Blackmore's  strain  ; 
Walls,  steeples,  skies,  bray  back  to  him  again.       260 
In  Tottenham  fields,  the  brethren,  with  amaze, 
Prick  all  their  ears  up,  and  forget  to  graze  ! 
Long  Chancery-lane  retentive  rolls  thp  sound, 
And  courts  to  courts  return  it  round  and  round  ; 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  238.  Norton,]  See  ver.  417.— .1.  Durant  Broval, 
author  of  a  very  extraordinary  book  of  travels,  and  some 
poems.  See  before,  note  on  ver.  12ti. 

Ver.  258.  Webster— and  Wmtfield]  The  one  the  writer 
of  a  newspaper  called  tlie  Weekly  Miscellany,  the  other  a 
field-preacher.  This  thought  the  only  means  of  advancing 
religion  was  by  the  new-birth  of  spiritual  madness;  that  by 
the  old  duath  of  fire  and  faggot ;  and  therefore  they  agreed 
in  this,  though  in  no  other  earthly  thing,  to  abuse  all  the  so 
Der  clergy.  From  the  small  success  of  these  two  extraordi 
nary  persons,  we  may  learn  how  little  hurtful  bigotry  and 
enthusiasm  are,  while  the  civil  magistrate  prudently  forbean 
to  lend  his  power  to  the  one,  in  order  to  the  employing  it 
against  the  other. 

Ver  263.     Long  Chancery-lane]    The  place  where  tin 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Thames  wafts  it  thence  to  Rufus'  roaring  hall, 
And  Hungerford  re-echoes  bawl  for  bawl. 
All  hail  him  victor  in  both  gifts  of  song, 
Who  sings  so  loudly,  and  who  sings  so  long. 

REMARKS. 

offices  of  chancery  are  kept.  The  long  detention  of  client! 
in  that  court,  and  the  difficulty  of  getting  out,  is  humour 
ously  alegorized  in  these  lines. 

Ver.  268.  Who  sings  so  loudly,  and  who  sings  so  long.] 
A  just  character  of  sir  Richard  Blackmore,  knight,  who  (at 
Mr.  Uryden  cxprcsseth  it) 

'Writ  to  the  rumbling  of  his  coach's  wheels;' 
and  whose  indefatigable  muse  produced  no  less  than  six  epic 
poems;  Prince  and  King  Arthur,  twenty  books;  Eliza,  ten; 
Alfred,  twelve;  the  Redeemer,  six;  besides  .lob,  in  folio;  tho 
whole  book  of  Psalms;  the  Creation,  seven  books;  Nature 
of  Wan,  three  books;  and  many  moro.  It  is  in  this  sense  he 
is  styled  afterwards  the  everlasting  Blnckmore.  Notwith 
standing  all  which,  Mr.  Gildon  seems  assured,  'that  this  ad 
mirable  author  did  not  think  himself  upon  the  same  foot 
with  Homer.' — Comp.  Art  of  Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  108. 

But  how  different  is  the  judgment  of  the  author  of  Cha 
racters  of  the  Times  ?  p.  25,  who  says,  '  Sir  R.  Blackmore  is 
unfortunate  in  happening  to  mistake  his  proper  talents;  and 
that  he  has  not  for  many  years  been  so  much  as  named,  or 
even  thought  of  among  writers.'  Even  Mr.  Dennis  differs 
greatly  from  his  friend  Mr.  Gildon:  'Blackmore's  action,' 
saith  he,  '  has  neither  unity,  nor  integrity,  nor  morality,  nor 
universality;  and  consequently  he  can  have  no  fable,  and  no 
heroic  poem:  his  narration  is  neither  probable,  delightful, 
nor  wonderful ;  Jiis  characters  have  none  of  the  necessary 
qualifications;  the  things  combined  in  his  narration  are  nei 
ther  in  their  own  nature  delightful,  nor  numerous  enough, 
nor  rightly  disposed,  nor  surprising,  nor  pathetic.'  Nay,  he 
proceeds  so  far  as  to  say  sir  Richard  has  no  genius;  first 
laying  down,  that  'genius  is  caused  by  a  furious  joy  and 
pride  of  soul,  on  the  conception  of  an  extraordinary  hint. 
'Many  men,'  says  he,  'have  their  hints,  without  those  mo 
tions  of  fury  and  pride  of  soul,  because  they  want  fire 
enough  to  agitate  their  spirits;  and  these  we  call  cold 
writers.  Others  who  have  a  great  deal  of  fire,  but  have  not 
excellent  organs,  feol  the  fore-mentioned  motions,  without 
the  extraordinary  hints;  and  these  we  call  fustian  writers.' 
But  he  declares,  'that  sir  Richard  had  neither  the  hints  nor 
the  motions.' — Remarks  on  Pr.  Arth.  octavo,  1006.  Preface. 

This  gentleman  in  his  first  works  abused  the  character  of 
Mr.  Dryden;  and  in  his  last,  of  Mr.  Pope,  accusing  him  ill 
very  high  and  sober  terms  of  profancness  and  immorality 


THE  DUNCIA1).  233 

This  labour  past,  by  Bridewell  all  descend 
i ;As  morning-prayers  and  flagellation  end,)  270 

To  where  Fleet-ditch  with  disemboguing  streams 
Rolls  the  large  tribute  of  dead  dogs  to  Thames, 
The  king  of  dykes  !  than  whom  no  sluice  of  mud 
With  deeper  sable  blots  the  silver  flood. 

'  Here  strip,  my  children,  here  at  once  leap  in, 
Here  prove  who  best  can  dash  through  thick  and  thin ; 
And  who  the  most  in  love  of  dirt  excel, 
Or  dark  dexterity  of  groping  well 

REMARKS. 

(Essay  on  Polite  Writing,  vol.  ii.  p.  270)  on  a  more  report 
from  Edm.  C'urll,  that  lie  was  author  of  a  travestie  on  the 
first  Psalm.  Mr.  Dennis  took  up  the  same  report,  but  with 
the  addition  of  what  sir  Richard  had  neglected,  an  argument 
to  prove  it;  which  being  very  curious,  we  shall  here  tran 
scribe.  Ml  was  he  who  burlesqued  the  Psalms  of  David.  It 
is  apparent  to  rnu  that  psalm  was  burlesqued  by  a  popish 
rhymester.  Let  rhyming  persons  who  have  been  brought 
up  proleslants  be  otherwise  what  they  will,  let  them  bo 
rakes,  let  them  be  scoundrels,  let  them  be  atheists,  yet  educa 
tion  has  made  an  invincible  impression  on  them  in  behalf 
of  the  sacred  writings.  But  a  popish  rhymester  has  been 
brought  up  with  a  contempt  for  those  sacred  writings ;  now 
show  me  another  popish  rhymester  but  he.'  This  manner 
of  argumentation  is  usual  with  Mr.  Dennis;  he  has  employ 
ed  the  same  against  sir  Richard  himself,  in  a  like  charge  of 
impiety  and  irreligion.  'All  Mr.  IHackmore's  celestial 
machines,  as  they  cannot  be  defended  so  much  as  by  com 
mon  received  opinion,  so  are  they  directly  contrary  to  the 
doctrine  of  the  church  of  England  ;  for  the  visible  descent 
of  an  angel  must  be  a  miracle.  Now  it  is  the  doctrine  of  the 
church  of  England  that  miracles  had  ceased  a  long  time  be 
fore  prince  Arthur  came  into  the  world.  Now  if  the  doctrine 
of  the  church  of  England  be  true,  as  we  are  obliged  to  be 
lieve,  then  are  all  the  celestial  machines  in  Prince  Arthur 
unsufterablc,  as  wanting  not  only  human,  but  divine  pro 
bability.  But  if  the  machines  are  suffernble,  that  is,  if  they 
have  so  much  as  divine  probability,  then  it  follows  of  neces 
sity  that  the  doctrine  of  the  church  is  false.  So  I  leave  it 
to  every  impartial  clergyman  to  consider,'  &c.  Preface  to 
the  Remarks  on  Prince  Arthur. 

Ver.  270.  (As  mornins  prayers  and  flagellation  end.)]  It 
is  between  eleven  and  twelve  in  the  morning,  after  church 
service,  that  the  criminals  are  whipped  in  Bridewell.  This 
is  to  mark  punctuaJy  the  time  of  the  day :  Homer  does  it 
by  the  circumstance  of  the  judges  rising  frrm  court,  or  of 
VOL.  II.  Ifi 


234         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Who  flings  most  filth,  and  wide  pollutes  around 
The  streams,  be  his  the  Weekly  Journals  bound  :  280 
A  pig  of  lead  to  him  who  dives  the  best ; 
A  peck  of  coals  apiece  shall  glad  the  rest.' 

In  naked  majesty  Oldmixon  stands, 
And,  Milo-like,  surveys  his  arms  and  hands 

REMARKS. 

Ihc  labourers'  dinner  :  our  author  by  one  very  proper  both  to 
the  persons  and  the  scene  of  his  poem,  which  we  may  re 
member  commenced  in  the  evening  of  the  lord-mayor's  day. 
The  first  book  passed  in  that  night ;  the  next  morning  the 
games  begin  in  the  Strand,  thence  along  Fleet-street  (places 
inhabited  by  booksellers,)  then  they  proceed  by  Bridewell 
toward  Fleet-ditch,  and  lastly  through  Ludgate  to  the  city, 
and  the  temple  of  the  goddess. 

Ver.  280.  The  Weekly  Journals]  Papers  of  news  and 
scandal  intermixed,  on  different  sides  and  parties,  and  fre 
quently  shifting  from  one  side  to  the  other,  called  the  Lon 
don  Journal,  British  Journal,  Daily  Journal,  &c.,  the  con 
cealed  writers  of  which  (or  some  time  were  Oldmixon, 
Eoome,  Arnall,  Concanen,  and  others  ;  persons  never  seen 
by  our  author. 

Ver.  283.  In  naked  majesty  Oidmixon  stands,]  Mr. 
John  Oldmixon,  next  to  Mr.  Dennis,  the  most  ancient  critic 
of  our  nation;  an  unjust  censurer  of  Mr.  Adilison  in  his  prose 
Essay  on  Criticism,  whom  also  in  his  imitation  of  Bouhours 
(called  the  Arts  of  Logic  and  Rhetoric)  he  misrepresents  in 
plain  matter  of  fact;  for  in  p.  45,  he  cites  the  Spectator  as 
abusing  Dr.  Swift  by  name,  where  there  is  not  the  least  hint 
of  it;  and  in  p.  304,  is  so  injurious  as  to  suggest  that  Mr. 
Addison  himself  writ  that  Taller,  No.  43;  which  says  of  his 
own  simile,  that,  "Tis  as  great  as  ever  entered  into  the 
mind  of  man.' 

In  poetry  he  was  not  so  happy  as  laborious,  and  therefore 
characterized  by  the  Taller,  No.  62,  by  the  name  of  'Omicron 
the  Unborn  Poet.'  Curll,  Key,  p.  13.  'He  writ  dramatic 
works,  and  a  volume  of  poetry,  consisting  of  heroic  epistles, 
&.c.  some  whereof  are  very  well  done,' said  the  great  judge, 
Mr.  Jacob,  in  his  Lives  of  Poets,  vol.  ii.  p.  303. 

In  his  Essay  on  Criticism,  and  the  arts  of  Logic  and 
Rhetoric,  he  frequently  reflects  on  our  author.  But  the  top 
of  his  characler  was  a  perverter  of  history,  in  that  scanda 
lous  one  of  the  Stuarts,  in  folio,  and  his  Critical  History  of 
England,  two  volumes  octavo.  Being  employed  by  bishop 
Kennet,  in  publishing  the  historians  in  his  collection,  he 
falsified  Daniel's  Chronicle  in  numberless  places.  Yet  thii 
very  man,  in  the  preface  to  the  first  of  these  books,  advanced 
e  particular  fact  to  charge  three  eminent  persons  of  fulsifv 


THE  DUNCIAD.  235 

Then  sighing  thus  :  '  And  am  I  now  threescore  ? 
Ah,  why,  ye  gods,  should  two  and  two  make  four  ?' 
He  said,  and  climb'd  a  stranded  lighter's  height, 
Shot  to  the  black  abyss,  and  plunged  downright. 
The  senior's  judgment  all  the  crowd  admire, 
Who,  but  to  sink  the  deeper,  rose  the  higher.        290 

Next  Smedley  dived ;  slow  circles  dimpled  o'er 
The  quaking  mud,  that  closed  and  oped  no  more. 
All  look,  all  sigh,  and  call  on  Smedley  lost ; 
Smedley  in  vain  resounds  through  all  the  coast. 

Then  *  *  essay'd  ;  scarce  vanish'd  out  of  sight, 
He  buoys  up  instant,  and  returns  to  light : 
He  bears  no  tokens  of  the  sabler  streams, 
And  mounts  far  off  among  the  swans  of  Thames. 

True  to  the  bottom  see  Concanen  creep, 
A  cold,  long-winded  native  of  the  deep  :  300 

REMARKS. 

ing  tlie  lord  Clarendon's  History;  winch  fart  has  been  dis 
proved  by  Ur.  Atterbury,  late  bishop  of  Rochester,  then  the 
only  survivor  of  them  ;  and  the  particular  part  he  pretended 
to  be  falsified,  produced  since,  afier  almost  ninety  years,  in 
that  noble  author's  original  manuscript.  •  He  was  all  his  life 
a  virulent  parly-writer  for  hire,  and  received  his  reward  it 
a  small  place,  which  he  enjoyed  to  his  death. 

Ver.  291.  Next  Smedley  dived;]  In  the  surreptitiou. 
editions,  this  whole  episode  was  applied  to  an  initial  lette 
E — ,  by  whom,  if  they  meant  the  laureat,  nothing  was  morir 
absurd,  no  part  agreeing  with  his  character.  The  allegory 
evidently  demands  a  person  dipped  in  scandal,  and  deeply 
immersed  in  dirty  work  ;  whereas  Mr.  Eusden's  writings 
rarely  offended  but  by  their  length  and  multitude,  and  ac 
cordinjrly  are  taxed  of  nothing  else  in  book  i.  ver.  102.  But 
the  person  here  mentioned,  an  Irishman,  was  author  and 

SubHsher  of  many  scurrilous  pieces,  a  weekly  Whitehall 
ournal,  in  the  year  1722,  in  the  name  of  Sir  James  Baker; 
and  particularly  whole  volumes  of  Billingsgate  against  Dr. 
Swift  and  Mr.  Pope,  called  Gulliveriana  and  Alexandriana, 
printed  in  octavo,  1728. 

Ver.  295.  Then  *  *  essay'd  ;]  A  gentleman  of  geniua 
and  spirit,  who  was  secretly  dipped  in  some  papers  of  thii 
kind,  on  whom  our  pool  bestows  a  panegyric  instead  of  a 
satire,  as  deserving  to  be  better  employed  than  in  party 
quarrels  and  personal  invectives. 
Ver.  299.  Condition]  Mathew  Concanen,  an  Irishman 


236         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

If  perseverance  gain  the  diver's  prize, 

Not  everlasting  Blackmore  this  denies  . 

No  noise,  no  stir,  no  motion  canst  tliou  make, 

The  unconscious  stream  sleeps  o'er  thee  like  a  lake 

Next  plunged  a  feeble  but  a  desperate  pack, 
With  each  a  sickly  brother  at  his  back  ; 
Sons  of  a  day  !  just  buoyant  on  the  flood, 
Then  nurnber'd  with  the  puppies  in  the  mud. 
Ask  ye  their  names  ?  I  could  as  soon  disclose 
The  names  of  these  blind  puppies  as  of  those.       310 
Fast  by,  like  Niobe  (her  children  gone) 
Sits  mother  Osborne,  stupified  to  stone  ! 
And  monumental  brass  this  record  bears, 
'  These  are, — ah  no  !  these  were  the  Gazetteers  !' 

REMARKS. 

bred  lo  the  law.  Smedley  (one  of  his  brethren  in  enmity  to 
Swift)  in  his  Metamorphosis  of  Scriblerua,  p.  7,  accuses  hire 
of '  having  boasted  of  what  he  had  not  written,  but  others 
had  revised  and  done  for  him.'  He  was  author  of  several 
dull  and  dead  scurrilities  in  the  British  and  London  Jour 
nals,  and  in  a  paper  called  the  Speculatist.  In  a  pamphlet, 
called  a  Supplement  to  the  Profound,  he  dealt  very  unfairly 
with  our  poet,  not  only  frequently  imputing  to  him  Mr. 
Hroome's  verses  (tor  wliich  he  might  indeed  seem  in  some 
degree  accountable,  having  corrected  what  thnt  gentleman 
did)  but  those  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  and  others:  to 
this  rare  piece  somebody  humorously  caused  him  to  take  for 
his  motto,  De.  profundis  clamavi.  He  was  since  a  scribbler 
in  the  Daily  Courant,  where  he  poured  forth  much  Billings 
gate  against  the  lord  Bolingbroke,  and  others:  after  which 
this  man  was  surprisingly  promoted  to  administer  justice  and 
.aw  in  Jamaica. 

Ver.  31X1,  307.  With  each  a  sickly  brother  at  his  back : 
Sons  of  a  day,  &c.]  These  were  daily  papers,  a  number  of 
which,  to  lessen  the  expence,  were  printed  one  on  the  back 
of  another. 

Ver.  312.  Osborne]  A  name  assumed  by  the  eldest  and 
gravest  of  these  writers,  who,  at  last,  being  ashamed  of 
his  pupils,  gave  his  paper  over,  and  in  his  age  remained 
silent. 

Ver.  314.  Gazetteers!]  We  ought  not  to  suppose  that  a 
modern  critic  here  taxeth  the  poet  with  an  anachronism, 
affirming  these  gazetteers  not  to  have  lived  within  the  lima 
of  his  poem,  and  challenging  us  to  produce  any  such  paper 
af  that  date.  But  we  may  with  equal  assurance  assert 


THE  DUNCIAD.  23? 

Not  so  bold  Arnall ;  with  a  weight  of  skull, 
Furious  he  dives,  precipitately  dull. 

REMARKS. 

these  gazetteers  not  to  have  lived  since,  and  challenge  ah 
the  learned  world  to  produce  one  such  paper  at  this  day. 
Surely  therefore,  where  the  point  is  so  obscure,  our  author 
ought  not  t.u  hi!  censured  too  rashly.  Scribl. 

Notwithstanding  this  affected  ignorance  of  thegood  Scrib- 
lerus,  the  Daily  Gazetteer  was  a  title  given  very  pioperly  to 
certain  papers,  each  of  which  lasted  but  a  day.  Inio  this, 
as  a  common  sink,  was  received  all  the  trash  which  had 
been  before  dispersed  in  several  journals,  and  circulated  at 
the  public  expense  of  the  nation.  The  authors  were  the 
same  obscure  men  ;  though  sometimes  relieved  by  occasional 
essays  from  statesmen,  courtiers,  bishops,  deans,  and  doc 
tors.  The  meaner  sort  were  rewarded  with  money  ;  others 
with  places  or  benefices,  fro,»  a  hundred  to  a  thousand  a 
year.  It  appears  from  the  Report  of  the  Secret  Committee 
for  inquiring  into  the  Conduct  of  R.  carl  of  O — ,  '  That  no 
less  than  fifty  thousand  seventy-seven  pounds  eighteen  shil 
lings  were  paid  to  authors  and  printers  of  newspapers,  such 
as  Free  Britons,  Daily  Couranis,  Corn  Cutter's  Journals, 
Gazetteers,  and  other  political  papers,  between  Feb.  10, 
1731,  and  Feb.  10,  1741.'  Which  shows  the  benevolence 
of  one  minister  to  have  expended,  for  the  current  dulness  of 
ten  years  in  Britain,  double  the  sum  which  gained  Louis 
XIV.  so  much  honour,  in  annual  pensions  to  learned  men  all 
over  Europe.  In  which,  and  in  a  much  longer  time,  not  a 
pension  at  court,  nor  preferment  in  the  church  or  universi 
ties,  of  any  consideration,  was  bestowed  on  any  man  dis 
tinguished  for  his  learning  separately  from  party-merit,  or 
pamphlet- writing. 

It  is  worth  a  reflection,  that  of  all  tho  panegyrics  bestow 
ed  by  these  writers  on  this  great  minister,  not  one  is  at  this 
day  extant  or  remembered,  not  even  so  much  credit  done  to 
his  personal  character  by  all  they  have  written,  as  by  one 
short  occasional  compliment  of  our  author  . 

'  Seen  him  I  have  ;  but  in  his  happier  hour 
Of  social  pleasure,  ill  exchanged  for  power! 
Seen  him,  uncumber'd  by  the  venal  tribe, 
Smile  without  art,  and  win  without  a  bribe.' 

Ver.  315.  Arnall.]  William  Arnall,  bred  an  attorney, 
was  a  perfect  genius  in  this  sort  of  work.  He  began  under 
twenty  with  furious  party  papers :  tlii'ii  succeeded  Concanen 
in  tho  British  Journal.  At  the  first  publication  of  the  Dun- 
ciad,  he  prevailed  on  the  author  not  to  give  him  his  due 
place  in  it,  by  a  letter  professing  his  detestation  of  such 
practices  aa  his  predecessor's.  But  since,  by  tho  most  UB- 


238  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Whirlpools  and  storms  his  circling  arm  invest, 

With  all  the  might  of  gravitation  bless'd. 

No  crab  more  active  in  the  dirty  dance, 

Downward  to  climb,  and  backward  to  advance,     320 

He  brings  up  half  the  bottom  on  his  head, 

And  loudly  claims  the  journals  and  the  lead. 

The  plunging  prelate,  and  his  ponderous  grace, 
With  holy  envy  gave  one  layman  place ; 
When,  lo  !  a  burst  of  thunder  shook  the  flood, 
Slow  rose  a  form,  in  majesty  of  mud, 
Shaking  the  horrors  of  his  sable  brows, 
And  each  ferocious  feature  grim  with  ooze  : 
Greater  he  looks,  and  more  than  mortal  stares ; 
Then  thus  the  wonders  of  the  deep  declares  :        330 

First  he  relates,  how  sinking  to  the  chin, 
Smit  with  his  mien,  the  mud-nymphs  suck'd  him  in  : 
How  young  Lutetia,  softer  than  the  down, 
Nigrina  black,  and  Merdamante  brown, 

REMARKS. 

examplcd  insolence,  and  personal  abuse  of  several  great 
men,  tlie  poet's  particular  friends,  he  most  amply  deserved  a 
niche  in  the  temple  of  infamy;  witness  a  pnper  called  the 
Free  Briton,  a  dedication  entitled,  To  the  Genuine  Blun 
derer,  1732,  and  many  others.  He  writ  for  hire,  and  valued 
himself  upon  it;  not  indeed  without  cause,  it  appearing,  by 
the  aforesaid  Report,  that  he  received  '  for  Free  Britons  and 
other  writings,  in  the  space  of  four  years,  no  less  than  ten 
thousand  nine  hundred  and  ninety-seven  pounds  six  shillings 
and  eight  pence,  out  of  the  Treasury.  But  frequently, 
through  his  fury  or  folly,  he  exceeded  all  the  bounds  of  his 
commission,  and  obliged  his  honourable  patron  to  disavow 
his  scurrilities. 

Ver.  323.  The  plunging  prelate,  &c.]  It  having  been 
invidiously  insinuated  that,  by  this  title  was  meant  a  truly 
great  prelate,  as  respectable  for  his  defence  of  Ihe  present 
balance  of  power  in  the  civil  constitution,  as  for  his  opposi 
tion  to  the  scheme  of  no  power  at  all,  in  the  religious  ;  I 
owe  so  much  to  the  memory  of  my  deceased  friend  as  to  de 
clare,  that  when,  a  little  before  his  ileiilh,  I  informed  him  of 
this  insinuation,  he  called  it  vile  and  malicious,  as  any  cnn 
did  man,  he  said,  might  understand,  by  his  having  paid  a 
willing  compliment  to  this  very  prelate  in  another  part  of 
he  poem. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  23% 

Vied  for  his  love  in  jetty  bowers  belowy 

As  Hylas  fair  was  ravish'd  long  ago. 

Then  sung,  how,  shown  him  by  the  nut-brown  maids 

A  branch  of  Styx  here  rises  from  the  shades  ; 

That,  tinctured  as  it  runs  with  Lethe's  streams, 

And  wafting  vapours  from  the  land  of  dreams       3<i 

(As  under  seas  Alpheus'  secret  sluice, 

Bears  Pisa's  offering  to  his  Arethuse,) 

Pours  into  Thames  ;  and  hence  the  mingled  wave 

Intoxicates  the  pert,  and  lulls  the  grave  : 

Here  brisker  vapours  o'er  the  Temple  creep, 

There,  all  from  Paul's  to  Aldgate  drink  and  sleep. 

Thence  to  the  banks  where  reverend  bards  repose, 
They  led  him  soft ;  each  reverend  bard  arose  ; 
And  Milbourne  chief,  deputed  by  the  rest, 
'  Gave  him  the  cassock,  surcingle,  and  vest.  35C 

'Receive,'  he  said,  'these  robes  which  once  were  mine: 
Dulncss  is  sacred  in  a  sound  divine.' 

He  ceased,  and  spread  the  robe  ;  the  crowd  confess 
The  reverend  flamen  in  his  lengthened  dress. 
Around  him  wide  a  sable  army  stand, 
A  low-born,  cell-bred,  selfish,  servile  bacid, 

HEMARKS. 

Ver.  34!).  AnJ  Milhourue.]  Luke  Milbourne,  a  clergy 
man,  tho  fairest  of  critics;  who,  when  he  wrote  against  Mr. 
Prydcn's  Virgil,  did  him  justice  in  printing  at  the  saino 
lime  his  own  translations  of  him,  which  were  intolerable. 
His  manner  of  writing  has  a  great  resemblance  with  that  of 
tho  gentlemen  of  tho  Dunciad  against  our  author,  as  will  be 
«cen  in  the  narallel  of  Mr.  Dryden  and  him. 

Ver.  355.  Around  him  wide,  &c.]  It  is  to  be  hoped, 
that  the  satire  in  these  lines  will  be  understood  in  the  con 
fined  sense  in  which  the  author  meant  it,  of  such  only  of  the 
clergy,  who,  though  solemnly  engaged  in  the  service  of  re 
ligion,  dedicate  themselves  for  venal  and  corrupt  ends  to 
that  of  ministers  or  factions;  and  though  educated  under  an 
entire  ignorance  of  the  world,  aspire  to  interfere  in  the 
government  of  it,  and  consequently,  to  disturb  and  disorder 
it;  in  which  they  fall  short  of  their  predecessors  only  bv 
being  invested  with  much  !<<ss  of  that  power  and  authority, 
which  they  employed  indifferently  (as  is  hinted  at  in  Ilia 
lines  above)  either  in  supporting  arbitrary  power,  or  in  ex 


S40         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Prompt  or  to  guard  or  stab,  to  saint  or  damn  : 
Heaven's  Swiss,  who  fight  for  any  god,  or  man. 

Through  Lud's  famed  gates,  along  the  well-know* 

Fleet, 

Rolls  the  black  troop,  and  overshades  the  street,  36C 
Till  showers  of  sermons,  characters,  essays, 
In  circling  fleeces  whiten  all  the  ways  : 
So  clouds,  replenish'd  from  some  bog  below, 
Mount  in  dark  volumes,  and  descend  in  snow. 
Here  stopt  the  goddess  ;  and  in  pomp  proclaims 
A  gentler  exercise  to  close  the  games  : 

'Ye  critics  !  in  whose  heads,  as  equal  scales, 
I  weigh  what  author's  heaviness  prevails  ; 
Which  most  conduce  to  soothe  the  soul  in  slumbers, 
My  Henley's  periods,  or  my  Blackmore'a  numbers ; 
Attend  the  trial  we  propose  to  make  :  371 ' 

If  there  be  man,  who  o'er  such  works  can  wake, 
Sleep's  all-subduing  charms  who  dares  defy, 
And  boasts  Ulysses'  ear  with  Argus'  eye  ; 
To  him  we  grant  our  amplest  powers,  to  sit 
Judge  of  all  present,  past,  and  future  wit; 
To  cavil,  censure,  dictate,  right  or  wrong, 
Full  and  eternal  privilege  of  tongue.' 

Three  college  sophs  and  three  pert  templars  came, 
The  same  their  talents,  and  their  tastes  the  same: 
Each  prompt  to  query,  answer,  and  debate,  381 

And  smit  with  love  of  poesy  and  prate. 
The  ponderous  books  two  gentle  readers  bring  ! 
The  heroes  sit,  the  vulgar  form  a  ring. 
The  clamorous  crowd  is  hush'd  with  mugs  of  muni, 
Till  all,  tuned  equal,  send  a  general  hum. 
Then  mount  the  clerks,  and  in  one  lazy  tone 
Through  the  long,  heavy,  painful  page  drawl  on  ; 

REMARKS. 

citing  rebellion ;  in  canonizing  the  vices  of  tyrants,  or  in 
blackening  the  virtues  of  patriots;  in  corrupting  religion  by 
superstition,  or  betraying  it  by  libertinism,  as  either  wai 
.bought  best  to  serve  the  ends  of  policy,  or  Hatter  the  Collie* 
»f  the  great. 


THE  DUMC1AD.  24 

Soft  creeping  words  on  words,  the  sense  compose ; 

At  every  line  they  stretch,  they  yawn,  they  doze.  390 

As  to  soft  gales  top-heavy  pines  bow  low 

Their  heads,  and  lift  them  as  they  cease  to  blow, 

Thus  oft  they  rear,  and  oft  the  head  decline, 

As  breathe,  or  pause,  by  fits,  the  airs  divine. 

And  now  to  this  side,  now  to  that  they  nod, 

As  verse,  or  prose,  infuse  the  drowsy  god. 

Thrice  Budgel  aim'd  to  speak,  but  thrice  suppress'd 

By  potent  Arthur,  knock'd  his  chin  and  breast. 

Toland  and  Tiridal,  prompt  at  priests  to  jeer, 

Yet  silent  bow'd  to  'Christ's  no  kingdom  here.'    400 

Who  sat  the  nearest,  by  the  words  o'ercome, 

Slept  first ;  the  distant  nodded  to  the  hum. 

Then  down  are  roll'd  the  books ;  stretch'd  o'er  them 

lies 

Each  gentle  clerk,  and  muttering  seals  his  eyes. 
As  what  a  Dutchman  plumps  into  the  lakes, 
One  circle  first,  and  then  a  second  makes, 


Ver.  397.  Thrice  Budgel  aim'd  to  speak.]  Famous  lor 
his  speeches  on  many  occasions  about  the  South  bua 
schemes,  &c.  'He  is  a  very  ingenious  gentleman,  and  hath 
written  some  excellent  epilogues  to  plays,  and  one  small 
piece  on  Love,  which  is  very  pretty." — Jacob,  Lives  of  Po 
ets,  vol.  ii.  p.  289.  But  this  gentleman  since  made  himself 
much  more  eminent,  and  personally  well  known  to  he  ilia 
greatest  statesman  of  all  parties,  as  well  as  to  all  the  courlg 
of  law  in  this  nation. 

Ver.  399.  Toland  and  Tindal.]  Two  persons  not  so 
happy  as  to  be  obscure,  who  writ  against  the  religion  of 
their  country.  Toland,  the  author  of  the  atheist's  liturgy, 
called  Pantheisticon,  was  a  spy,  in  pay  to  lord  Oxford.  Tin 
dal  was  author  of  the  Rights  of  the  Christian  Church,  and 
Christianity  as  old  as  the  Creation.  He  also  wrote  an  ahu- 

iive  pamphlet  against  earl  S ,   whi  :h   was  suppressed 

while  yet  in  MS.  by  an  eminent  person,  ;hen  out  of  the  mi 
nistry,  to  whom  he  showed  it,  expecting  his  approbation. 
This  doctor  afterwards  published  the  same  piece,  mutatii 
mutandis,  against  that  very  person. 

Ver.  400.  Christ's  no  kingdom.]  This  is  said  by  Curll, 
Key  to  Dune,  to  allude  to  a  sermon  of  a  reverend  bishop 


242         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

What  Dulness  dropp'd  among  her  sons  impress'd 

Like  motion  from  one  circle  to  the  rest : 

So  from  the  midmost  the  nutation  spreads 

Round  and  more  round,  o'er  all  the  sea  of  heads.  410 

At  last  Centlivre  felt  her  voice  to  fail, 

Motteux  himself  unfinish'd  left  his  tale, 

Boyer  the  state,  and  Law  the  stage  gave  o'er, 

Morgan  and  Mandevil  could  prate  no  more  ; 

Norton,  from  Daniel  and  Ostroea  sprung, 

Bless'd  with  his  father's  front,  and  mother's  tongue, 

Hung  silent  down  his  never-blushing  head  ; 

And  all  was  hush'd,  as  folly's  self  lay  dead. 

REMARKS. 

Vt-r.  411.  Centlivre.]  Mrs.  Susanna  Centlivre,  wife  to 
Mr.  Cenihvre,  yeoman  of  the  mouth  to  his  majesty.  Piie 
writ  many  plays,  and  asong,  (says  Mr.  Jacob,  vol.  i.  p.  ii-J,) 
before  she  was  seven  years  old.  She  also  writ  a  ballad 
ngainst  Mr.  I'ope's  Homer,  before  lie  began  it. 

Ver.  413.  Boyer  the  state,  and  Law  the  stage  gavu  o'er,] 
A.  Boyer,  a  voluminous  compiler  of  annals,  political  collec 
tions,  &c. — William  Law,  A.  M.  wrote  with  great  zeal 
against  the  stage ;  Mr.  Dennis  answered  with  as  great ;  their 
books  were  printed  in  172(5.  The  same  Mr.  Law  is  authoi 
of  a  book  entitled,  An  Appeal  to  all  that  doubt  of  or  disbe 
lieve  the  truth  of  the  Gospel ;  in  which  ho  has  detailed  a 
system  of  the  rankest  Spinosism,  for  the  most  exalted  the 
ology;  and  amongst  other  things  as  rare,  has  informed- us  of 
this,  that  sir  Isaac  Newton  stole  the  principles  of  his  phi 
losophy  from  one  Jacob  Behmen,  a  German  cobbler. 

Ver.  414.  Morgan,]  A  writer  against  religion,  distin 
guished  no  otherwise  from  the  rabble  of  his  tribe,  than  by 
the  pompousness  of  his  title;  for  having  stolen  his  morality 
from  Timlal,  and  hi* philosophy  from  Spinosa,  he  calls  him 
self,  by  the  courtesy  of  England,  a  moral  philosopher. 

Ibid.  Mandevil.]  This  writer  who  prided  himself  in  the 
reputation  of  an  immoral  philosopher,  was  author  of  a  fa 
mous  book  called  the  Fable  of  the  Dees ;  written  to  prove 
that  moral  virtue  is  the  invention  of  knaves,  and  Christian 
virtue  the  imposition  of  tools;  and  that,  vice  is  necessary, 
and  iilone  sufficient  to  render  society  flourishing  nnd  happy. 

Ver.  415.  Norton,]  Norton  l)e  Foe,  offspring  of  the  fa 
mous  Daniel,  fortes  creant.iir  fortibus.  One  of  the  authors 
of  tho  Flying  Post,  in  which  well  bred  work  Mr.  P.  had 
sometime  the  honour  to  be  abused  with  his  bettors;  and  of 
many  hired  scurrilities  and  daily  papers,  to  which  he  nevor 
let  his  name. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  243 

Thus  the  soft  gifts  of  sleep  conclude  the  day, 
And  stretch'd  on  bulks,  as  usual,  poets  lay.  420 

Why  should  I  sing,  what  bards  the  nightly  muse 
Did  slumbering  visit,  and  convey  to  stews  ? 
Who  prouder  march'd  with  magistrates  in  state, 
To  some  famed  round-house'  ever-open  gate  ? 
How  Henley  lay  inspired  beside  a  sink, 
And  to  mere  mortals  seem'd  a  priest  in  drink : 
While  others,  timely,  to  the  neighbouring  Fleet 
(Haunt  of  the  muses)  made  their  safe  retreat  ? 


BOOK  THE  THIRD. 

ARGUMENT. 

After  the  other  persons  are  disposed  in  their  proper 
places  of  rest,  the  goddess  transports  the  king  to  her 
temple,  and  there  lays  him  to  slumber,  with  his  head 
on  her  lap ;  a  position  of  marvellous  virtue,  which 
eauseth  all  the  visions  of  wild  enthusiasts,  projectors, 
politicians,  inamoratos,  castle-builders,  chemists,  and 
poets.  He  is  immediately  carried  on  the  wings  of 
fancy,  and  led  by  a  mad  poetical  Sibyl  to  the  Elysian 
shade ;  where,  on  the  banks  of  Lethe,  the  souls  of  the 
dull  are  dipped  by  Bavins,  before  their  entrance  into 
this  world.  There  he  is  met  by  the  ghost  of  Settle,  and 
by  him  made  acquainted  with  the  wonders  of  the  place, 
and  with  those  which  he  himself  is  destined  to  perform. 
He  takes  him  to  a  mount  of  vision,  from  whence  he 
shows  him  the  past  triumphs  of  the  empire  of  Dulness, 
then  the  present,  and  lastly  the  future:  how  small  a 
part  of  the  world  was  ever  conquered  by  science,  how 
soon  those  conquests  were  stopped,  and  those  very  na 
tions  again  reduced  to  her  dominion.  Then  distin 
guishing  the  island  of  Great  Britain,  shows  by  what 
aids,  by  what  persons,  and  by  what  degrees  it  shall  bo 
brought  to  her  empire.  Some  of  the  persons  ho  causes 
to  pass  in  review  before  his  eyes,  describing  each  by 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  *27.    Fleet,]     A  prison  for  insolvent  debtors  on  the 
bank  of  the  ditch. 


244 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


his  proper  figure,  character,  and  qualifications.  On  a 
sudden  the  scene  shifts,  and  a  vast  number  of  mira 
cles  and  prodigies  appear,  utterly  surprising  and  un. 
known  to  the  king  himself,  till  they  are  explained  to 
be  the  wonders  of  his  own  reign  now  commencing 
On  this  subject  Settle  breaks  into  a  congratulation, 
yet  not  unmixed  with  concern,  that  his  own  times 
were  but  the  types  of  these.  He  prophesies  how  first 
the  nation  shall  be  overrun  with  farces,  operas,  and 
shows;  the  throne  of  Dulness  shall  be  advanced  over 
the  theatre.s,  and  set  up  even  at  court:  then  how  her 
sons  shall  preside  in  the  seats  of  arts  and  sciences; 
giving  a  glimpse,  or  I'isgah  sight,  of  the  future  ful 
ness  of-her  glory,  the  accomplishment  whereof  is  the 
subject  of  the  fourth  and  last  book. 


BOOK  III. 

BUT  in  her  temple's  last  recess  enclosed, 
On  Dulness'  lap  the  anointed  head  reposed. 
Him  close  she  curtains  round  with  vapours  blue, 
And  soft  besprinkles  with  Cimmerian  dew, 
Then  raptures  high  the  seat  of  sense  o'erflow, 
Which  only  heads  refined  from  reason  know. 
Hence  from  the  straw  where  Bedlam's  prophet  nods, 
He  hears  loud  oracles,  and  talks  with  gods : 
Hence  the  fool's  paradise,  the  statesman's  scheme, 
The  air-built  castle,  and  the  golden  dream,  10 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  5,  6,  &c.]  Hereby  is  intimated  that  the  following 
vision  is  no  more  than  the  chimera  of  the  dreamer's  brain, 
and  not  a  real  or  intended  satire  on  the  present  age,  doubt 
less  more  learned,  more  enlightened,  and  more  abounding 
with  great  geniuses  in  divinity,  politics,  and  whntever  arts 
and  sciences,  thun  all  the  preceding.  For  fear  of  tiny  such 
mistake  of  our  poet's  honest  meaning,  hn  halh  again,  at  the 
end  of  the  vision,  repeated  this  monition,  saying  that  it  all 
passed  through  the  ivory  gate,  which  (according  to  the  an 
cients)  denotclh  falsity.  Sc.ribl. 

How  much  the  good  Scriblerus  \vaa  mistaken,  may  be 
seen  from  the  fourth  book,  which,  it  is  plain  from  hence,  he 
had  never  seen.  Bentl. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  245 

The  maid's  romantic  wish,  the  chemist's  flame, 
And  poet's  vision  of  eternal  fame. 

And  now,  on  fancy's  easy  wing  convey'd, 
The  king  descending,  views  the  Elysian  shade. 
A  slip-shod  Sibyl  led  his  steps  along, 
In  lofty  madness  meditating  song  ; 
Her  tresses  staring  from  poetic  dreams, 
And  never  wash'd,  but  in  Castalia's  streams. 
Taylor,  their  better  Charon,  lends  an  oar,  19 

(Once  swan  of  Thames,  though  now  he  sings  no  more,) 
Benlowes,  propitious  still  to  blockheads,  bows  ; 
And  Shadwell  nods  the  poppy  on  his  brows. 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  15.  A  slip-shod  Sibyl.]  This  allegory  is  extremely 
just,  no  conformation  of  tho  mind  so  much  subjecting  it  to 
teal  madness,  as  that  which  produces  real  clulness.  Hence 
we  find  the  religious  (as  well  us  the  poetical)  enthusiasts  of 
all  ages  were  ever,  in  their  natural  state,  most  heavy  and 
lumpish;  but  on  the  least  Application  of  heat,  they  ran  like 
lead,  which  of  all  metals  falls  quickest  into  fusion.  Where 
as  fire  in  a  genius  is  truly  Promethean ;  it  hurls  not  its  con 
stituent  parts,  but  only  fits  it  (as  it  does  well-tempered 
Bteel)  for  the  necessary  impressions  of  art.  But  the  common 
people  have  been  taught  (I  do  not  know  on  what  founda 
tion)  to  regard  lunacy  as  a  mark  of  \vit,  just  as  the  Turks 
and  our  modern  Methodists  do  of  holiness.  But  if  tho  cause 
of  mildness  assigned  by  a  great  philosopher  be  true,  it  will 
unavoidably  full  upon  tlie  dunces.  He  supposes  it  to  he  the 
dwelling  over-long  on  one  object  or  idea.  Now  as  this  at 
tention  is  occasioned  either  by  grief  or  study ,  it  will  he  fixed 
by  dulness:  which  hath  not  quickness  enough  to  compre 
hend  what  it  seeks,  nor  force  and  vigour  enough  to  divert 
the  imagination  fro:n  the  object  it  laments. 

Ver.  19.  Taylor.]  John  Taylor,  the  water  poet,  an  honest 
man,  who  owns  he  learned  not  so  much  as  the  accidence :  a 
rare  example  of  modesty  in  a  poet! 

'I  must  confess  I  do  want  eloquence, 
And  never  scarce  did  learn  my  accidence: 
For  having  got  from  possum  to  posset, 
I  there  was  giavell'd,  could  no  farther  get.' 

Ho  wrote  fourscore  books  in  the  reign  of  .Tames  I.  and 
Charles  I.  and  afterwards  (like  Edward  Ward)  kept  an  ale 
house  in  Long-acre.  He  died  in  1654. 

Ver.  21.  Benlowes,]  A  country  gentleman,  famous  for 
his  own  bad  poetry,  and  for  patronizing  bad  pools,  as  may 


£46        POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Here,  in  a  dusky  vale  where  Lethe  rolls, 

Old  Bavius  sits,  to  dip  poetic  souls, 

And  blunt  the  sense,  and  fit  it  for  a  skull 

Of  solid  proof,  impenetrably  dull : 

Instant,  when  dipp'd,  away  they  wing  their  flight, 

Where  Brown  and  Meers  unbar  the  gates  of  light, 

Demand  new  bodies,  and  in  calf's  array, 

Rush  to  the  world,  impatient  for  the  day.  30 

Millions  and  millions  on  these  banks  he  views, 

Thick  as  the  stars  of  night,  or  morning  dewa, 

As  thick  as  bees  o'er  vernal  blossoms  fly, 

As  thick  as  eggs  at  Ward  in  pillory. 

REMARKS. 

be  seen  from  many  dedications  of  Quarles  and  others  to 
him.  Some  of  these  anagramed  his  name  Benlows  into  i!e- 
nevolus:  to  verily  which,  ho  spent  his  whole  estate  upon 
them. 

Ver.  22.  And  Shadwell  nods  the  poppy,  &e.]  Shadwell 
took  opium  for  many  years;  and  died  of  too  large  a  dose, 
in  the  year  1692. 

Ver.  24.  Old  Bavius  sits.]  Bavius  was  an  ancient  poet, 
celehrated  by  Virgil  for  the  like  causes  as  liays  hy  our  au 
thor,  though  not  in  so  Christian-like  a  manner:  for  heathen- 
ishly  it  is  declared  hy  Virgil  of  Bavius,  that  he  ought  to  be 
nated  and  detested  for  his  evil  works ;  qui  Bavium  non 
odit :  whereas  we  have  often  had  occasion  to  observe  our 
poet's  great  good  nature  and  mercifulness  through  the 
whole  course  of  this  poem.  Scribl. 

Ver.  28.  Brown  and  Meers]  Booksellers,  printers  for 
any  body.  The  allegory  of  the  souls  of  the  dull  coming 
forth  in  the  form  of  books,  dressed  in  calf's  leather,  and 
being  let  abroad  in  vast  numbers  by  booksellers,  is  suffi 
ciently  intelligible. 

Ver.  34.  Ward  in  pillory.]  John  Ward,  of  Hackney, 
esq.  member  of  parliament,  being  convicted  of  forgery,  was 
first  expelled  the  house,  and  then  sentenced  to  the  pillorv  or. 
the  17th  of  February,  1727.  Mr.  Curll  (having  likewise 
stood  there)  looks  upon  the  mention  of  such  a  gentleman  in 
a  satire,  as  u  great  act  of  barbarity,  Key  to  Dune.  l)d  edit,  p 
16.  And  another  author  reasons  thus  upon  it:  Durgen.Svo. 
p.  11,  12.  'How  unworthy  is  it  of  Christian  charity  to  ani 
mate  the  rabble  to  abuse  a  worthy  man  in  such  a  situation! 
What  could  move  the  poet  thus  to  mention  a  brave  sufferer, 
a  gallant  prisoner,  exposed  to  the  view  of  all  mankind  ?  It 
was  laying  aside  his  senses,  it  was  committing  a  crime  for 
which  the  law  is  deficient  not  to  punish  him !  nay,  a  crime 


THE  DUNCIAD.  247 

Wondering  he  gazed  ;  when,  lo  !  a  sage  appears, 
By  his  broad  shoulders  known,  and  length  of  ears, 
Known  by  the  band  and  suit  which  Settle  wore 
(His  only  suit)  for  twice  three  yeare  before  : 
All  as  the  vest,  appear'd  the  wearer's  frame, 
Old  in  new  state,  another,  yet  the  same.  4C 

Bland  and  familiar  as  in  life,  begun 
Thus  the  great  father  to  the  greater  son  : 
Oh  horn  to  see  what  none  can  see  awake  ! 
Behold  the  wonders  of  the  oblivious  lake  ! 

REMARKS. 

which  man  can  scarce  forgive,  or  lime  efface !  nothing  surely 
could  have  induced  him  to  it  but  being  bribed  by  a  great 
lady,'  &.C.  (lo  whom  this  brave,  honest,  worthy  gentleman 
was  guilty  of  no  ollence  but  forgery,  proved  in  open  court.) 
But  it  is  evident  this  verse  could  not  be  meant  of  him;  it 
being  notorious  that  no  ig»s  were  thrown  at  that  gentleman. 
Perhaps,  therefore,  it  might  be  intended  of  Mr.  Edward 
Ward,  the  poet,  when  he  stood  them. 

Ver.  36.  And  length  of  ears,]  This  is  a  sophisticated 
reading.  L  think  I  may  venture  to  affirm  all  the  copyists 
are  mistaken  here:  I  believe  I  may  say  the  same  of  the 
critics;  Dennis,  Oldmixon,  Welsted,  have  passed  it  in  silence. 
I  have  also  stumbled  at  it,  and  wondered  how  an  error  so  ma 
nifest  could  escape  such  accurate  persons.  I  dare  assert,  it 
proceeded  originally  from  the  inadvertency  of  siiine  trans 
criber,  whose  head  ran  on  the  pillory,  mentioned  two  lines 
before  ;  it  is  therefore  amazing  that  Mr.  Curll  himself  should 
overlook  it!  Yet  that  scholiast  takes  not  the  least  notice 
hereof.  That  the  learned  Mist  also  read  it  Ihus,  is  plain 
from  his  ranging  this  passage  among  those  in  which  our  au 
thor  was  blamed  for  personal  satire  on  a  man's  face  (where 
of  doubtless  he  might  tuka  the  ear  to  be  a  part;)  so  likewise 
Concanen,  Ralph,  the  Flying  Post,  and  all  the  herd  of  com 
mentators —  Tola  armenta  scquuntur. 

A  very  little  sagacity  (which  all  these  gentlemen,  there 
fore  wanted)  will  restore  to  us  the  true  sense  of  the  poet  thus : 

'By  his  broad  shoulders  known,  and  length  of  years.' 
See  how  easy  a  change  of  one  single  letter!     That  Mr.  Set 
tle  was  old,  is  most  certain  ;  but  he  was  (happily)  a  stranger 
So  the  pillory.     This  no  to  is  partly  Mr.  Theobald's,  partly 
Scribl. 

Vnr.  37.  Settle.]  Elkanah  Settle  was  once  a  writer  in 
vogue  ;is  well  as  Gibber,  botli  for  dramatic  poetry  and  poli 
tics.  Mr.  Dennis  tells  us,  that  '  he  was  a  formidable  rival  to 
Mr.  Drydcn,  and  that  in  the  university  of  Cambridge  thera 


248          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Thou,  yet  unborn,  hast  touch'd  this  sacred  shore  ; 

The  hand  of  Bavius  drench'd  thee  o'er  and  o'er. 

But  blind  to  former,  as  to  future  fate, 

What  mortal  knows  his  pre-existent  state  ? 

Who  knows  how  long  thy  transmigrating  soul 

Might  from  Boeotian  to  Boeotian  roll  ?  5C 

How  many  Dutchmen  she  vouchsafed  to  thrid  1 

How  many  stages  through  old  monks  she  rid  ? 

And  all  who  since,  in  wild  benighted  days, 

Mix'd  the  owl's  ivy  with  the  poet's  bays. 

As  man's  meanders  to  the  vital  spring 

Roll  all  their  tides,  then  back  their  circles  bring ; 

Or  whirligigs,  twirl'd  round  by  skilful  swain, 

Suck  the  thread  in,  then  yield  it  out  again : 

All  nonsense  thus,  of  old  or  modern  date, 

Shall,  in  thee  centre,  from  thee  circulate.  00 

For  this,  our  queen  unfolds  to  vision  true 

Thy  mental  eye,  for  thou  hast  much  to  view  : 

REMARKS. 

were  those  who  gave  him  the  preference.'  Mr.  Welstcd  goes 
yet  farther  in  his  behalf!  'Poor  Settle  was  formerly  the 
mighty  rival  of  Dryden  ;  nay,  for  many  years,  bore  his  repu 
tation  above  him.'  Pref.  to  his  Poems,  8vo.  p.  lil.  And  Air. 
Melbourne  cried  out,  'How  lillle  was  Dryden  able,  even 
when  his  blood  rnn  high,  to  defend  himself  against  Mr.  Set 
tle  !'  Notes  on  Dryd.  Virg.  p.  175.  These  are  comfortable 
opinions;  and  no  wonder  some  authors  indulge  them. 

He  was  author  or  publisher  of  many  noted  pamphlets,  in 
the  time  of  king  Charles  II.  He  answered  all  Dryden's  po 
litical  poems;  and  being  cried  up  on  one  side,  succeeded  not 
a  little  in  his  tragedy  of  the  Empress  of  Morocco,  tiie  first 
that  was  ewer  printed  with  cuts.  '  Upon  this  he  grew  inso 
lent,  the  wits  writ  against  his  play,  he  replied, and  the  town 
judged  he  had  the  belter.  In  short,  Settle  was  then  thought 
a  very  formidable  rival  to  Mr.  Dryden;  and  not  only  tho 
town,  but  the  university  of  Cambridge  was  divided  which  to 
prefer;  and  in  both  places  the  younger  sort  inclined  to  El- 
kanah.'  Dennis,  Prcf.  to  Rein,  on  Hum. 

Ver.  50.  Might  from  Bouotian,  &c.]  Bceotin  lay  under 
the  ridicule  of  the  wits  formerly,  as  Ireland  does  now; 
though  it  produced  one  of  the  greatest  poets  and  one  of  th« 
greatest  generals  of  Greece  : 

'Bceotum  erasiso  jurarcs  niire  nalum.' — HOT. 


THE  DUXCIAD.  249 

Old  scenes  of  glory,  times  long  cast  behind, 
Shall,  first  recall'd,  rush  forward  to  thy  mind : 
Then  stretch  thy  sight  o'er  all  her  rising  reign, 
And  let  the  past  and  future  fire  thy  brain. 

Ascend  this  hill,  whose  cloudy  point  commands 
Her  boundless  empire  over  seas  and  lands: 
See,  round  the  poles,  where  keener  spangles  shine, 
Where  spices  smoke,  beneath  the  burning  line,        70 
(Earth's  wide  extremes,)  her  sable  flag  display'd, 
And  all  the  nations  cover'd  in  her  shade  ! 

Far  eastward  cast  thine  eye,  from  whence  the  sun 
And  orient  science  their  bright  course  begun  : 
One  godlike  monarch  all  that  pride  confounds, 
He,  whose  long  wall  the  wandering  Tartar  bounds  : 
Heavens  !  what  a  pile  !  whole  ages  perish  there, 
And  one  bright  blaze  turns  learning  into  air. 
Thence  to  the  south  extend  thy  gladden'd  eyes  ; 
There  rival  (lames  with  equal  glory  rise,  80 

From  shelves  to  shelves  see  greedy  Vulcan  roll, 
And  lick  up  all  their  physic  of  the  soul. 

How  little,  mark  !  that  portion  of  the  ball, 
Where,  faint  at  best,  the  beams  of  science  fall : 
Soon  as  they  dawn,  from  hyperborean  skies 
Embodied  dark,  what  clouds  of  Vandals  rise  ' 
Lo  !  where  MoJotis  sleeps,  and  hardly  flows 
The  freezing  Tana'i's  through  a  waste  of  snowa, 
The  North  by  myriads  pours  her  mighty  sons, 
Great  nurse  of  Goths,  of  Alans,  and  of  Huns  !         90 
See  Alaric's  stern  port !  the  martial  frame 
Of  Genseric  ;  and  Attila's  dread  name  ! 


REMARKS. 

Ver.  75.  Chi  Ho-am-ti,  emperor  of  China,  the  same  who 
built  the  great  wall  between  China  and  Tartary,  destroyed 
all  the  books  and  learned  men  of  that  empire. 

Ver.   81,  82.    The  caliph,  Omar  I.  having  conquered 
Egypt,  caused  his  general  to  burn  thePtolemaean  library,on 
(he  gates  of  which  was  this  inscription, 
The  physic  of  the  soul. 

VOL.  II.  17 


250          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

See,  the  bold  Ostrogoths  on  Latium  fall ; 

See,  the  fierce  Visigoths  on  Spain  and  Gaul ! 

See,  where  the  morning  gilds  the  palmy  shore 

(The  soil  that  arts  and  infant  letters  bore) 

His  conquering  tribes  the  Arabian  prophet  draws, 

And  saving  ignorance  enthrones  by  laws : 

See  Christians,  Jews,  one  heavy  sabbath  keep, 

And  all  the  western  world  believe  and  sleep.        100 

Lo  !  Rome  herself,  proud  mistress  now  no  more 
Of  arts,  but  thundering  against  heathen  lore  : 
Her  gray-hair'd  synods  damning  books  unread, 
And  Bacon  trembling  for  his  brazen  head. 
Padua,  with  sighs,  beholds  her  Livy  burn, 
And  e'en  the  Antipodes  Virgilius  mourn. 
See,  the  Cirque  falls,  the  unpillar'd  temple  nods, 
Streets  paved  with  heroes,  Tyber  choked  with  gods: 


Ver.  90.  (The  soil  that  arts  and  infant  letters  bore.)] 
Phoenicia,  Syria,  &c.  where  letters  are  said  lo  have  been  in 
vented.  In  these  countries  Mahomet  begun  his  conquests. 

Ver.  102.  Thundering  against  heathen  lore  :]  A  strong 
instance  of  this  pious  rage  is  placed  to  pope  Gregory's  ac 
count.  John  of  Salisbury  gives  a  very  odd  encomium  of 
this  pope,  at  the  same  time  lhat  he  mentions  one  of  the 
strangest  effects  of  this  excess  of  zeal  in  him  :  'Doctor  sanc- 
tissimus  ille  Gregorius,  qui  melleo  prEcdicationis  imbre  totam 
rigavit  «t  inchriavit  ecclesiam;  non  modo  mathesin  jussit  ab 
aula,  sod,  tit  traditur  a  majoribus,  inccndio  dedit  probatiB 
leciionis  scripta,  Palatinus  qusccunqun  tenebat  Apollo  ?' 
And  in  another  place:  '  Fertur  beatus  Gregorius  bibliotho- 
cam  combussisse  gentilem;  quo  divinae  pagina;  gratior  essct 
locus,  et  major  auctoritas,  et  diligcntia  studiosior.'  De- 
siderius,  archbishop  of  Vienna,  was  sharply  reproved  by 
him  for  teaching  grammar  and  literature,  and  explaining 
the  poets:  because  (says  this  pope)  '  In  unogeorecum  Jovis 
laudibus  Christi  laudcs  non  capiunt:  Et  quarn  grave  nefun- 
duinque  sit  episcopis  canere  quod  nee  laico  religioso  conve- 
niat,  ipse  conaideta.'  Mo  is  said  among  the  rest  to  havo 
burned  Livy;  'Quia  in  supcrstitionibus  et  sacris  Romano- 
rum  perpetuo  versatur.'  The  same  pope  is  accused  by  Vos- 
gius,  and  others,  of  having  caused  the  noble  monuments  of 
the  old  Roman  magnificence  to  be  destroyed,  lest  those  who 
came  to  Rome  should  give  more  attention  to  IriumphaJ 
arches,  &c.  than  to  holy  things.  Bayle,  Diet. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  261 

Till  Peter'a  keys  some  christen'd  Jove  adorn, 
And  Pan  to  Moses  lends  his  Pagan  horn;  110 

See  graceful  Venus  to  a  virgin  turn'd, 
Or  Phidias  broken,  and  Apelles  burn'd. 

Behold  yon  isle,  by  palmers,  pilgrims  trod, 
Men  bearded,  bald,  cowl'd,  uncowl'd,  shod,  unshod, 
Peel'd,  patch'd,  and  piebald,  linsey-wolsey  brothers, 
Grave  mummers!  sleeveless  some,  and  shirtless  others 
That  once  was  Britain — Happy  !  had  she  seen 
No  fiercer  sons,  had  Easter  never  been. 
In  peace,  great  goddess,  ever  be  adored  ; 
How  keen  the  war,  if  Dulness  draw  the  sword !    120 
Thus  visit  not  thy  own  !  on  this  bless'd  age 
O  spread  thy  influence,  but  restrain  thy  rage. 

And  see,  my  son  !  the  hour  is  on  its  way, 
That  Jifts  our  goddess  to  imperial  sway  ; 
This  favourite  isle,  long  sever'd  from  her  reign, 
Dove-like  she  gathers  to  her  wings  again. 
Now  look  through  fate  !  behold  the  scene  she  draws ! 
What  aids,  what  armies,  to  assert  her  cause  ! 


Ver.  109.  Till  Peter's  keys  some  christen'd  Jove  adorn.] 
After  the  government  of  Rome  devolved  to  the  Popes,  their 
zeal  was  for  some  time  exerted  in  demolishing  the  heathen 
temjiles  and  statues,  so  that  the  Goths  scarce  destroyed 
more  monuments  of  antiquity  out  of  rage,  than  these  out  of 
Jevotion.  At  length  they  spared  some  of  the  temples,  by 
converting  them  into  images  of  saints.  In  much  later  times, 
it  was  thought  necessary  to  change  the  statues  of  Apollo 
and  Pallas,  on  the  tomb  ot'Saiinazarius,  into  David  and  Ju 
dith  ;  the  lyre  easily  became  a  harp,  and  the  Gorgon's  head 
turned  to  that  of  Holofernes. 

Ver.  117,  118.  Happy !  had  Easter  never  been.]  Wars 
in  England  anciently,  about  the  right  time  of  celebrating 
Easter. 

Vor.  J26.  Dove-like,  she  gathers]  This  is  fulfilled  in 
the  fourth  book. 

Ver.  128.  What  aids,  what  armies,  to  assert  her  cause!" 
i.  e.  Of  poets,  antiquaries,  critics,  divines,  freethinkers.  But 
as  this  revolution  is  only  here  set  on  foot  by  the  first  of  these 
classes,  the  poets,  they  only  are  here  particularly  celebrated, 
and  they  only  properly  fall  under  the  care  and  review  of 
this  colleague  of  Dulness,  the  laureate.  The  others,  who 


252         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

See  all  her  progeny,  illustrious  sight ! 

Behold  and  count  them,  as  they  rise  to  light.         13C 

As  Berecynthia,  while  her  offspring  vie 

In  homage  to  the  mother  of  the  sky, 

Surveys  around  her,  in  the  bless'd  abode 

A  hundred  sons,  and  every  son  a  god  : 

Not  with  less  glory  mighty  Dulness  crown'd 

Shall  take  through  Grub-street  her  triumphant  round , 

And,  her  Parnassus  glancing  o'er  at  once, 

Behold  a  hundred  sons,  and  each  a  dunce. 

Mark  first  that  youth  who  takes  the  foremost  place, 
And  thrusts  his  person  full  into  your  face.  140 

With  all  thy  father's  virtues  bless'd,  be  born  ! 
And  a  new  Gibber  shall  the  stage  adorn. 

A  second  see,  by  meeker  manners  known, 
And  modest  as  the  maid  that  sips  alone  ; 
From  the  strong  fate  of  drams  if  thou  get  free, 
Another  D'Urfey,  Ward  !  shall  sing  in  thee: 
Thee  shall  each  alehouse,  thee  each  gillhouse  mourn, 
And  answering  gin-shops  sourer  sighs  return. 
Jacob,  the  scourge  of  grammar,  mark  with  awe; 
Nor  less  revere  him,  blunderbuss  of  law.  150 

REMARKS. 

Inisli  the  great  work,  are  reserved  for  the  fourth  book,  where 
Ihe  goddess  herself  appears  in  full  glory. 

Ver.  140.  Jacob,  the  scourge  of  grammar,  mark  with 
uwe;]  '  This  gentleman  is  son  of  a  considerable  master  of 
Rom»ey  in  Southamptonshire,  and  bred  to  the  law  under  a 
very  eminent  attorney,  who,  between  his  more  laborioui 
studies,  has  diverted  himself  with  poetry.  He  is  a  great  ad 
mirer  of  poets  and  their  works,  which  has  occasioned  him 
to  try  his  genius  that  way.  He  has  writ  in  Prose  the  Lives 
of  the  poets,  Essuys,  and  a  great  many  law  books,  The  Ac 
complished  Conveyancer,  Modern  Justice,  &c."  Giles  Jacob 
of  himself,  Lives  of  Poets,  vol.  i.  He  very  grossly  and  un 
provoked,  ;ibused  in  that  book  the  author's  friend,  Mr.  Gay. 

Ver.  149,  150. 

Jacob,  Ihe  scourge  of  grammar,  mark  with  awo 
Nor  less  revere  him,  blunderbuss  of  law.J 

There  may  seem  some  error  in  these  verses,  Mr.  Jacob 
laving  proved  our  author  to  have  a  respect  for  him,  rv  thi» 


THE  DUNC1AD.  253 

Lo,  P — p — le's  brow,  tremendous  to  the  town, 
Horneck' s  fierce  eye,  and  Roome's  funereal  frown. 
Lo  sneering  Goode,  half  malice  and  half  whim, 
A  fiend  in  glee,  ridiculously  grim. 
Each  cygnet  sweet,  of  Bath  and  Tunbridge  race, 
Whose  tuneful  whistling  makes  the  waters  pass  : 


REMARKS. 

undeniable  argument:  'He  had  once  a  regard  for  my  judg 
ment;  otherwise  he  never  would  have  subscribed  two  gui 
neas  to  me,  for  one  small  hook  in  octavo.'  Jacob's  Letter  to 
Dennis,  printed  in  Dennis's  Remarks  on  the  Dunciad,  p.  49. 
Therefore  I  should  think  the  appellation  of  blunderbuss  to 
Mr.  Jacob,  like  that  of  thunderbolt  to  Scipio,  was  meant  in 
his  honour. 

Mr.  Dennis  argues  the  same  way:  'My  writings  havin» 
made  great  impression  on  the  minds  of  all  sensible  men,  Mr. 
P.  repented,  and  to  give  proof  of  his  repentance,  subscribed 
to  my  two  volumes  of  Select  Works,  and  afterwards  to  my 
two  volumes  of  Letters.'  Ibid.  p.  80.  We  should  hence  be 
lieve,  the  name  of  Mr.  Dennis  hath  also  crept  into  this  poem 
by  some  mistake.  But  from  hence,  gentle  reader!  thou 
mayest  beware,  when  thou  givest  thy  money  to  such  authors, 
not  to  flatter  thyself  that  thy  motives  are  good  nature  or 
charity. 

Ver.  152.  Horneck  and  Roome.]  These  two  were  viru 
lent  party-writers,  worthily  coupled  together,  and  one  would 
tliink  prophetically,  since,  after  the  publishing  of  this  piece, 
the  former  dying,  the  latter  succeeded  him  in  honour  and 
employment.  The  first  was  Philip  Horneck.  author  of  a 
Billingsgate  paper,  called  the  High  German  Doctor.  Ed- 
wa-d  Roome  was  son  of  an  undertaker  for  funerals  in  Fleet- 
street,  and  writ  some  of  the  papers  called  Pasquin,  where, 
by  malicious  inuendos,  he  endeavoured  to  represent  our  au 
thor  guilty  of  malevolent  practices  with  a  great  man  then 
under  prosecution  of  parliament.  Of  this  man  was  made 
the  following  epigram: 

'You  ask  why  Roome  diverts  you  with  his  jokes? 
Yet  if  he  writes,  is  dull  as  other  folks! 
You  wonder  at  it — This,  sir,  is  the  case, 
The  jest  is  lost  unless  he  prints  his  face.' 

P — le  was  the  author  of  some  vile  plays  and  pamphlets 
He  published  abuses  on  our  author  in  a  paper  called  the 
Prompter. 

Ver.  153.  Goode,]  An  ill-natured  critic,  who  writ  a 
Mtire  on  our  author,  called  the  Mock  jEsop,  and  many 
anonymous  libels  in  newspapers  for  hire. 

Ver.    15t5.     Whose  tuneful  whistling  makes  the  water? 


25i         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Each  songster,  riddler,  every  nameless  name, 
All  crowd,  who  foremost  shall  be  damn'd  to  fame 
Some  strain  in  rhyme ;  the  muses,  on  their  racks, 
Scream  like  the  winding  often  thousand  jacks  ;    160 
Some,  free  from  rhyme  or  reason,  rule  or  check, 
Break  Priscian's  head,  and  Pegasus's  neck; 
Down,  down  the  larum,  with  impetuous  whirl, 
The  Pindars  and  the  Miltons  of  a  Curll. 

Silence,  ye  wolves  !  while  Ralph  to  Cynthia  howls, 
And  make  night  hideous — Answer  him,  ye  owls  ! 

Sense,  speech,  and  measure,  living  tongues  and  dead 
Let  all  give  way, — and  Morris  may  be  read. 
Flow,  Welsted,  flow  !  like  thine  inspirer,  beer,      169 
Though  stale,  not  ripe  ;  though  thin,  yet  never  clear ; 

REMARKS. 

pass:]  There  were  several  successions  of  these  eorls  of 
minor  poets  at  Tunbridge,  Jiath,  &c.  singing  the  praise  of 
the  annuals  flourishing  Tor  lhat  season  ;  whose  names,  in 
deed,  would  be  nameless,  and  therefore  the  poet  slurs  them 
over  with  others  in  general. 

Ver.  lt)5.  Ralph.]  James  Ralph,  a  name  inserted  after 
the  first  editions,  not  known  to  our  author  till  he  writ  a 
swearing  piece,  called  Sawney,  very  abusive  of  Dr.  Swift, 
Mr.  Gay,  and  himself.  These  lines  allude  to  a  thing  of  his, 
entitled  Night,  a  Poem.  This  low  writer  attended  his  own 
works  with  panegyrics  in  the  Journals,  and  onco  in  particu 
lar  praised  himself  highly  above  Mr.  Addison,  in  wretched 
remarks  upon  that,  author's  account  of  English  Poets,  printed 
in  a  London  Journal,  Sept.  17-28.  He  was  wholly  illiterate, 
nnd  knew  no  language,  not  even  French.  Being  advised  to 
rend  the  rules  of  dramatic  poetry  before  he  began  a  play,  he 
smiled  and  replied,  'Shakspeare  writ  without  rules.'  He 
ended  at  last  in  the  common  sink  of  all  such  writers,  a  po- 
Micnl  newspaper,  to  which  he  was  recommended  by  his 
friend  A  mail,  and  received  a  small  pittance  for  pay. 

V<>r.  IRS.     Morris]     Bosaleel.     See  Book  ii. 

Ver.  1G9.  Flow,  Welsted,  &c.]  Of  this  author  see  the 
Remark  on  Book  ii.  v.  209.  But  (to  be  impartial)  add  to  it 
the  following  different  character  of  him: 

'  Mr.  Welsted  had,  in  his  youth,  raised  so  great  expecta 
tions  of  his  future  genius,  that  there  was  a  kind  of  gtru<;<*lo 
between  the  most  eminent  of  the  two  universities,  which 
should  have  the  honour  of  his  education.  To  compound 
this  he  (civilly)  became  n  member  of  both,  and  after  having 
Dassed  some  time  at  the  one,  he  removed  to  the  other.  Fr«  m 


THE  DUNCIAD.  255 

So  sweetly  mawkish,  and  so  smoothly  dull : 
Heady,  not  strong;  o'erflowing,  though  not  full. 
Ah  Dennis  !  Gildon,  ah  !  what  ill-starr'd  rage 
Divides  a  friendship  long  confirm'd  by  age  ? 

REMARKS. 

thence  lie  returned  to  lown,  where  lie  became  the  darting 
expectation  of  all  the  polite  writers,  whose  encouragement 
lie  acknowledged  in  his  occasional  poems,  in  a  manner  ihut 
will  niiike  no  small  purt  of  the  fame  of  his  protectors.  I* 
also  appears  from  his  works,  that  he  was  happy  in  the  pa 
tronage  of  the  most  illustrious  characters  of  the  present 
agr. — Encouraged  by  such  a  combination  in  his  favour,  he — 
published  a  book  of  poems,  some  in  the  Ovidian,  some  in 
the  Horalian  manner;  in  both  which  the  most  exquisite 
judges  pronounce  he  even  rivalled  his  musters. — His  love- 
verses  have  rescued  that  way  of  writing  from  contempt. — In 
his  translations,  he  has  given  us  the  very  soul  and  spirit  of 
his  author.  His  Ode — his  Epistle — his  Verses — his  Love- 
tale — all,  are  the  most  perfect  things  in  all  poetry.'  Wel- 
sied  of  himself,  Char,  of  the  Times,  8vo.  17'-!8,  page  23,  24 
It  should  not  be  forgot  for  his  honour,  that  he  received  at 
one  time  the  sum  of  five  hundred  pounds  for  secret  service, 
among  the  other  excellent  authors  hired  to  write  anony 
mously  for  the  ministry.  See  Report  of  the  Secret  Commit 
tee,  &c.  in  17-i'Z 

Vcr.  17!).  Ah,  Dennis!  Cildon,  ah!]  These  men  became 
the  public  scorn  by  a  mere  mislake  of  their  talents.  They 
would  needs  turn  critics  of  their  own  cuuntrv  writers  (just 
BS  Aristotle  and  Longinus  did  of  theirs,)  and  discourse  upon 
tho  beauties  and  defects  of  composition  : 

'  How  parts  relate  to  part?,  and  they  to  whole  ; 
The  body's  harmony,  the  beaming  soul.' 

Whereas  had  they  followed  the  example  of  those  micro 
scopes  of  wit,  Kuster,  Burman,  and  their  followers,  in  verba 
criticism  on  the  learned  languages,  their  acutene.-s  and  in 
dustry  might  have  raised  them  a  name  equal  to  the  most 
famous  of  the  scholiasts.  We  cannot,  therefore,  but  .ament 
the  late  apostacy  of  the  prebendary  of  Rochester,  who  be 
ginning  in  so  good  a  train  has  now  turned  short  to  write 
comments  on  the  Fire-side,  ami  dreams  upon  Shakspeare: 
where  we  find  the  spirit  of  Oldmixon,  Gildon,  and  Dennis, 
all  revived  in  his  belaboured  observations.  Scriltl. 

Here  Scriblerus,  in  this  affair  of  the  Fire-side,  I  want  thy 
USUM!  candour.  It  is  true,  Mr.  Upton  did  write  notes  upon 
it,  but  with  all  the  honour  and  good  faith  in  the  world.  He 
took  it  to  be  a  panegyric  on  his  patron.  This  it  is  to  have 
to  do  with  wits;  a  commerce  unworthy  a  scholiast  of  so 
lolid  learning.  Jlris. 

Ver.  173.     Ah,  Dennis,  &.C.1     Tho  reader  who  has  scoc 


256          FOPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS, 

Blockheads  with  reason  wicked  wits  abhoi, 
But  fool  with  fool  is  barbarous  civil  war. 
Embrace,  embrace,  my  sons  !  be  foes  no  more  ! 
Nor  glad  vile  poets  with  true  critics'  gore. 

Behold  yon  pair,  in  strict  embraces  join'd  ; 
How  like  in  manners  and  how  like  in  mind  !         18C 


REMARKS. 

through  the  course  of  these  notes,  wliat  a  constant  attend 
ance  Mr.  Dennis  paid  to  our  author  and  all  his  works,  may 
perhaps  wonder  lie  should  be  mentioned  hut  twice,  and  so 
slightly  touched,  in  this  poimi.  But  in  truth  he  looked  upon 
him  with  some  esteem,  for  having  (more  generously  than  all 
the  rest)  set  his  name  to  such  writings.  He  was  also  a  very 
old  man  at  this  time.  l?y  his  own  account  of  himself,  in 
Mr.  Jacob's  lives,  he  must  have  been  above  threescore, 
and  happily  lived  many  years  after.  So  that  he  was  senior 
to  Mr.  D'Urfey,  who  hitherto,  of  all  our  poets,  enjoyed  the 
longest  bodily  life. 

Ver.  179.  Behold  yon  pair,  &c.]  One  of  these  was  au 
thor  of  a  weekly  paper  called  The  Grumbler,  i\s  the  other 
was  concerned  in  another  called  Pasquin,  in  which  Mr. 
Pope  was  abused  with  the  duke  of  Buckingham,  ai.d  bishop 
of  Rochester.  They  also  joined  in  a  piece  against  his  first 
undertaking  to  translate  the  Iliad,  entitled  Homerides,  by 
sir  Iliad  Uoggrel,  printed  1715. 

Of  the  other  works  of  these  gentlemen  the  world  has 
heard  no  more,  than  it  would  of  Mr.  Pope's,  hat1  their  united 
laudable  endeavours  discouraged  him  from  i  .irsuing  his 
studies.  How  few  good  works  had  ever  appeared  (since 
men  of  true  merit  are  always  the  least  presuming)  had  thero 
been  always  such  champions  to  stifle  them  in  thsir  concep 
tion  !  And  were  it  not  better  for  the  public,  that  a  million 
of  monsters  should  come  into  the  world,  which  are  sure  to 
die  as  soon  as  horn,  than  that  the  serpents  should  strangle 
one  Hercules  in  his  cradle? 

The  union  of  these  two  authors  gave  occasion  to  this  epi 
g~irn: 

1  Burnet  and  Ducket,  friends  in  spite, 
Came  hissing  out  in  verse  ; 

Both  were  so  forward,  each  would  write — 
So  dull,  each  hung  an  a — . 

Thus  Amphiibona  (I  have  read) 
At  either  end  assails; 

None  knows  which  leads  or  which  is  led, 

For  both  heads  are  but  tails.' 

After  many  editions  of  this  poem,  the  author  thought  fit  to 
omit  the  names  of  these  two  persons,  whose  injury  to  him 
was  of  so  old  Q  date. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  257 

Equal  in  wit,  and  equally  poiite, 
Shall  this  a  Pasquin,  that  a  Grumbler  write: 
Like  are  their  merits,  like  rewards  they  share, 
That  shines  a  consul,  this  commissioner.' 

'  But  who  is  he,  in  closet  close  y-pent, 
Of  sober  face,  with  learned  dust  besprent?' 
'  Right  well  mine  eyes  arede  the  myster  wight, 
On  parchment  scraps  y-fed,  and  Wormius  hight. 
To  future  ages  may  the  dulness  last, 
As  thou  preserves!  the  dulness  of  the  past !  190 

There,  dim  in  clouds,  the  poring  scholiasts  mark, 
Wits  who,  like  owls,  see  only  in  the  dark, 
A  lumber-house  of  books  in  every  head, 
For  ever  reading,  never  to  be  read: 

But,  where  each  science  lifts  its  modern  type, 
History  her  pot,  divinity  her  pipe, 
While  proud  philosophy  repines  to  show, 
Dishonest  sight !  his  breeches  rent  below  ; 
Imbrown'd  with  native  bronze,  lo  !  Henley  stands, 
Tuning  his  voice,  and  balancing  his  hands.  200 

REMARKS. 

Ver.    1--U.      That  siiiucs   n   consul,   this   commissioner. 
Such  places  were  given  at  this  time  to  such  sort  of  writers. 

Ver.  187.     Myster  wiglit.]     Uncouth  mortal. 

Vcr.  IBS.  Wormius  hight..]  Lot  not  this  mime,  purely 
fictitious,  he  conceited  to  mean  the  learned  Olaus  Wormius, 
much  less  (as  it  was  unwarrantably  foisted  into  the  surrepti 
tious  editions)  our  own  antiquary,  Mr.  Thomas  Hcarne,  who 
had  no  way  aggrieved  our  poet,  hut  on  the  contrary  publish 
ed  many  curious  tracts  which  he  hath  to  his  great  content 
ment  perused. 

Ver.  192.  Wits  who,  liko  owls,  &c.j  These  few  lines 
exactly  describe  the  right  verbal  critic:  the  darker  his  au 
thor  is",  the  bettor  he  is  pleased  ;  like  the  famous  quack  doc 
tor,  who  put  up  in  his  bills,  he  delighted  in  matters  of  diffi 
culty.  Somebody  said  well  of  these  men,  that  their  heads 
were  libraries  out  of  order. 

Ver.  19SI.  Lo !  Henley  stands,  &c.]  3.  Henley,  the 
orator ;  he  pi  cached  on  the  Sundays  upon  theological  matters 
and  on  the  Wednesdays  upon  all  other  sciences.  Each 
auditor  paid  one  shilling.  lie  declaimed  some  years  against 
the  greatest  persons,  and  occasionally  did  our  author  thai 
honour.  Welsted,  in  Oratory  Transacthns,  No  1.  publish 


258          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

How  fluent  nonsense  trickles  from  his  tongue ! 
How  sweet  the  periods,  neither  said  nor  sung  ! 


eil  by  Henley  himself,  gives  the  following  account  of  him  : 
'He  was  born  at  Moltuii  Mowbray,  in  Leicestershire.  From 
his  own  parish  school  lie  went  to  St.  John's  College,  in  Cam 
bridge.  He  began  tliern  to  be  uneasy;  for  it  shocked  him  to 
find  he  was  commanded  to  believe  against  his  own  judgment 
in  points  of  religion,  philosophy,  &c.  for  his  genius  leading 
him  freely  to  dispute  all  propositions,  and  call  all  points  to 
account,  he  was  impatient  under  those  flitters  of  the  free- 
born  mind.  Being  admitted  to  priest's  orders,  he  found  the 
examination  very  short  and  superficial,  and  that  it  was  not 
necessary  to  conform  to  the  Christian  religion,  in  order 
either  to  dcuconship  or  priesthood.  He  came  to  town,  and 
after  having  for  some  years  been  a  writer  for  booksellers,  ho 
had  an  ambition  to  be  so  for  ministers  of  state.  The  only 
reason  he  did  not  rise  in  the  church,  we  are  told,  '  \vas4he 
envy  of  others,  and  a  disrelish  entertained  of  him,  because 
he  was  not  qualified  to  be  a  complete  spaniel.'  However 
he  offered  the  service  of  his  pen  to  two  great  men,  of  opinions 
and  interests  directly  opposite  ;  by  both  of  whom  being  re 
jected,  he  set  up  a  now  project,  and  styled  himself  the  Restorer 
of  ancient  Eloquence.  He  thought  'it  as  lawful  to  take  a 
licence  from  the  king  and  parliament  in  one  place  as  ano 
ther ;  at  dickers  Hall,  as  at  Doctors'  Commons  ;  so  set  up 
his  oratory  in  Newport-market,  Butcher-row.  There, 'says 
his  friend,  'he  had  the  assurance  to  form  a  plan,  which 
no  mortal  evor  thought  of ;  he  had  success  against  all  oppo 
sition ;  challenged  his  adversaries  to  fair  disputations,  and 
none  would  dispifte  with  him  ;  writ,  read,  and  studied  twelve 
hours  a  day ;  composed  three  dissertations  a  week  on  all 
subjects;  undertook  to  teach  in  one  year  what  schools  and 
universities  toach  in  five;  was  not  terrified  by  menaces,  in 
sults,  or  satires,  but  still  proceeded,  matured  his  bold  scheme, 
and  put  the  church,  and  all  that,  in  danger.' — Weisled, 
Narrative  in  Oral.  Transact.  No.  1. 

After  having  stood  some  prosecutions,  he  turned  his 
rhetoric  to  buffoonery  upon  all  public  and  private  occur 
rences.  All  this  passed  in  ttie  same  room,  where  sometimes 
he  broke  .jests,  and  sometimes  that  bread  which  he  called 
the  primitive  eucharist.  This  wonderful  person  struck  me 
dals,  which  he  dispersed  as  tickets  to  his  subscribers;  the 
device  a  star  rising  to  the  m-rtdian,  with  this  motto, 
ADSVMMA:  and  below,  INVRNIAM  VfAM  AVT 
FACIAM.  This  man  had  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  given 
Uim  for  tiio.  secret  service  of  a  weekly  paper  of  unintelligible 
nonsense,  called  the  Hyp-Doctor. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  259 

Still  break  the  benches,  Henley  !  with  thy  strain, 
While  Sherlock,  Hare,  and  Gibson,  preach  in  vain. 
Oh  great  restorer  of  the  good  old  stage, 
Preacher  at  once,  and  zany  of  thy  age  ! 
Oh  worthy  thou  of  Egypt's  wise  abodes, 
A  decent  priest,  where  monkeys  were  the  gods  ! 
But  fate  with  butchers  placed  thy  priestly  stall, 
Meek  modern  faith  to  murder,  hack,  and  maul ;     210 
And  bade  thee  live,  to  crown  Britannia's  praise, 
In  Toland's,  Tindal's,  and  in  Woolston's  days. 

Yet  oh,  my  sons,  a  father's  words  attend: 
(So  may  the  fates  preserve  the  ears  you   lend  :) 
'Tis  yours,  a  Bacon  or  a  Locke  to  blame, 
A  Newton's  genius,  or  a  Milton's  flame  : 
But  oh  !  with  One,  immortal  One  dispense, 
The  source  of  Newton's  light,  of  Bacon's  sense. 
Content  each  emanation  of  his  fires 
That  beams  on  earth,  each  virtue  he  inspires,        220 
Each  art  he  prompts,  each  charm  he  can  create, 

Whate'er  he  gives,  are  given  for  your  hate. 

I 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  204.  Sherlock,  Haro,  Gibson,]  Bishops  of  Salis 
bury,  Chichesler,  and  London  ;  whose  sermons  and  pastoral 
letters  did  honour  to  tiieir  country  us  well  us  stations. 

Ver.  212.  Of  Toland,  and  Tind:il,  see  Book  ii.  Tho. 
Wonlston  was  an  impious  madman,  who  wrote  in  a  most 
insolent  style  against  the  miracles  of  the  Gospel,  in  the  year 
1720,  &.c. 

Ver.  213.  Yet  oh,  my  sons,  &c.]  The  caution  against 
blasphemy  here  given  hy  a  departed  son  of  Dnlness  to  his  ytt 
existing  brethren,  is,  as  the  poet  rightly  intimates,  not  out 
of  tenderness  to  the  ears  of  olhern,  hut  their  own.  And  so 
we  see  that  when  that  clangor  is  removed,  on  the  open  estab- 
.ishment  of  the  goddess  in  Hie  fourth  book,  she  encourages 
her  sons,  and  they  beg  assistince  to  pollute  the  source  of 
light  itself,  with  the  same  virulence  they  had  before  dona 
the  purest  emanations  from  it. 

Ver.  215.     'Tis  yours,  a  Bacon  or  a  T.ocke  to  blame, 

A  Newton's  genius,  or  a  Milton's  fliime  :] 

Thankfully  received,  and  freely  used,  is  this  gracious  licence 

by  the  beloved  disciple  of  that  prince  of  cabalistic  dunces, 

the  tremendous  Hutchinaon.     Hear  with  what  honest  plain- 


260          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Persist,  by  all  divine  in  man  unawed, 

But,  '  Learn,  ye  Dunces  !  riot  to  scorn  your  God. 

Thus  he,  for  then  a  ray  of  reason  stole 
Half  through  the  solid  darkness  of  his  soul; 
But  soon  the  cloud  return'd,  and  thus  the  sire : 
See  now,  what  Dulness  and  her  sons  admire  ! 
See  what  the  charms,  that  smite  the  simple  heart 
Not  touch'd  by  nature,  and  not  reach'd  by  art.'      230 

His  never-blushing  head  he  turn'd  aside, 
;Not  half  so  pleased  when  Goodman  prophesied  ;) 


ness  lie  treateth  our  great  geometer.  '  As  to  mathematical 
demonstrations,'  saith  he,  '  founded  upon  Iho  proportions  of 
lines  and  circles  to  each  other,  and  the  ringing  of  changes 
upon  figures,  these  have  no  more  to  do  with  the  greatest  part 
of  philosophy,  than  they  have  with  the  man  in  the  moon. 
Indeed,  the  zeal  for  this  sort  of  gibberish,  (mathematical 
principles)  is  greatly  abated  of  late:  and  though  it  is  now 
upwards  of  twenty  years  that  the  Dagon  of  modern  philoso 
phers,  sir  Isaac  Newton,  has  lain  with  his  face  upon  the 
ground  before  the  ark  of  God,  Scripture  philosophy;  for  so 
long  Moses's  Principia  have  been  published  ;  and  the  Trea 
tise  of  Power  Essential  and  Mechanical,  in  which  sir  Isaac 
Newton's  philosophy  is  treated  with  the  utmost  contempt, 
has  been  published  a  dozen  years  ;  yet  is  there  not  one  of 
the  whole  society  who  hath  had  the  courage  to  attempt  to 
raise  him  up.  And  so  let  him  lie.'  The  Philosophical  Prin 
ciples  of  Moses  asserted,  &.c.  p.  2,  by  Julius  Bate,  A.  M. 
chaplain  to  the  right  honourable  the  earl  of  Harrington. 
London,  1744,  8vo.~  Scribl. 

Vet.  224.  But, 'Learn,  ye  Dunces!  not  to  scorn  your 
God.']  The  hardest  lesson  a  dunce  can  learn.  For  being 
bred  to  scorn  what  he  does  not  understand,  that  which  he 
understands  least  he  will  be  apt  to  scorn  most.  Of  which, 
to  the  disgrace  of  all  government,  and,  in  the  poet's  opinion, 
even  of  thatof  Dulness  herself,  we  have  had  a  late  example, 
in  a  hook  entitled  Philosophical  Essays  concerning  Human 
Understanding. 

Ver.  224.  Not  to  scorn  your  God.']  See  this  subject 
pursued  in  Book  iv. 

Ver.  232.  (Not  half  so  pleased,  when  Goodman  prophesi 
ed.)]  Mr.  Cibber  tells  us,  in  his  Life,  p.  149,  that  Goodman 
being  at  the  rehearsal  of  a  play,  in  which  he  had  a  part, 
clapp'd  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  cried, '  If  he  does  not  make 
a  good  actor,  I'll  be  d — d.'  '  And,'  says  Mr.  Gibber,  '  I  make 
it  a  question,  whether  Alexander  himself,  or  Charles  the 
Twelfth  of  Sweden,  when  at  the  head  of  their  first  victorious 


THE  DUNCIAD.  261 

And  look'd,  and  saw  a  sable  sorcerer  rise, 
Swift  to  whose  hand  a  winged  volume  flies  : 
All  sudden,  gorgons  hiss,  and  dragons  glare, 
And  ten  horn'd  fiends  and  giants  rush  to  war. 
Hell  rises,  heaven  descends,  and  dance  on  earth ; 
Gods,  imps,  and  monsters,  music,  rage,  and  mirth, 
A  fi>e,  a  jig,  a  battle,  and  a  ball, 
Till  oie  wide  conflagration  swallows  all.  248 

Thence  a  new  world,  to  nature's  laws  unknown, 
Breaks  out  refulgent,  with  a  heaven  its  own ; 
Another  Cynthia  her  new  journey  runs, 
And  other  planets  circle  other  suns. 
The  forests  dance,  the  rivers  upward  rise, 
Whales  sport  in  woods,  and  dolphins  in  the  skies; 
And  last,  to  give  the  vrftole  creation  grace, 
Lo  !  one  vast  egg  produces  human  race. 
Joy  fills  his  soul,  joy  innocent  of  thought: 
'  What  power,'  he  cries, '  what  power  these  wonders 
wrought  ?'  250 

'  Son ;  what  thou  seek'st  is  in  thee !  Look,  and  find 
Each  monster  meets  his  likeness  in  thy  mind. 
Yet  wouldst  thou  more  ?  in  yonder  cloud  behold, 
Whose  sarsenet  skirts  are  edged  with  flaming  gold, 
A  matchless  youth!  his  nod  these  worlds  controls, 
Wings  the  red  lightning,  and  the  thunder  rolls. 


armies,  could  feel  a  greater  transport  in  their  bosoms  than  I 
did  in  mine.' 

Ver.  233.  A  sable  sorcerer.]  Dr.  Faustus,  the  subject 
of  a  set  of  farces,  which  lasted  in  vogue  two  or  three  sea 
sons,  in  which  both  playhouses  strove  to  outdo  each  other 
for  some  years.  All  the  extravagances  in  the  sixteen  linea 
following,  were  introduced  on  the  stage,  and  frequented  by 
persons  of  the  first  quality  in  England,  to  the  twentieth  and 
thirtieth  time. 

Ver.  237.  Hell  rises,  heaven  descends,  and  dance  on 
earth  :]  This  monstrous  absurdity  was  actually  represented 
in  Tibbald's  Rape  of  Proserpine. 

Ver.  248.  Lo!  one  vast  egg.  ~\  In  another  of  these  farce* 
Harlequin  is  hatched  upon  the  stage,  out  of  a  large  egg. 


862          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Angel  of  Dulness,  sent  to  scatter  round 
Her  magic  charms  o'er  all  unclassic  ground  : 
Yon  stars,  yon  suns,  he  rears  at  pleasure  higher. 
Illumes  their  light,  and  sets  their  flames  on  fire.     260 
Immortal  Ridi  !  how  calm  he  sits  at  ease 
'Midst  snows  of  paper,  and  fierce  hail  of  peas; 
And,  proud  his  mistress'  orders  to  perform, 
Rides  in  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the  storm. 

But  lo!  to  dark  encounter  in  mid  air, 
New  wizards  rise  ;  I  see  my  Gibber  there  ! 
Booth  in  his  cloudy  tabernacle  shrined, 
On  grinning  dragons  thou  shall  mount  the  wind 
Dire  is  the  conflict,  dismal  is  the  din, 
Here  shouts  all  Drury,  there  all  Lincoln's-inn  ;     270 


REMARKS. 

Ver.  261.  Immortal  Rich  '.]  Mr.  J.  Rich,  master  of  thp. 
theatre-royal  in  Covent-garden,  was  the  first  that  excelled 
this  way. 

Ver.  2(56.  I  see  my  Cibbrr  there!]  The  history  of  tho 
foregoing  absurdities  is  verified  by  himself,  in  these  wordn, 
(Life,  cbap.  xv.)  'Then  sprung  forth  ihiit  succession  of 
monstrous  medleys  that  have  so  long  infested  the  stage, 
which  arose  upon  one  another  alternately  at  both  houses, 
outvieing  each  other  in  expense.*  He  then  procuuds  to  ex 
cuse  his  own  part  in  them,  as  follows: — '  If  [  am  asked  why 
I  asse'ited  ?  I  have  no  better  excuse  for  my  orror  than  to 
co''  .  I  did  it  against  my  conscience,  and  had  not  virtue 
•  .,  ..  to  starve.  Hail  Henry  IV.  of  France  a  better  for 
«;ing  his  religion?  I  was  still  in  my  heart,  as  much  as 
,  could  be,  on  the  side  of  truth  and  sense:  but  with  this 
difference,  that  I  had  their  leave  to  quit  them  when  they 
could  not  supnnrt  me.  But  let  the  question  go  which  way  it 
will,  Harry  IVtli  has  always  been  allowed  a  great  ma.i.' 
Phis  must  be  confessed  a  full  answer:  only  the  question  slill 
seems  in  be,  1.  How  the  dnini  a  thing  ajainst  one's  con 
science  is  :m  excuse  for  it  ?  and,  2dly,  It  will  lie  hard  to  prove 
how  he  got  the  leave  of  truth  nnil  sense  to  quit  their  service, 
unless  he  cnn  pioduce  a  certificate  that  he  ever  was  in  it. 

Ver.  2(>l>,  2(17.  Booth  and  Gibber  were  joint  managers  of 
the  theatre  in  Drury-lane. 

Ver.  2(58.  On  grinning  dragons  thou  shall  mount  t*ia 
wind.]  In  his  letter  to  Mr.  P.  Mr.  C.  solemnly  declares  (hit 
not  to  be  literally  true.  We  hope,  therefore,  the  reader  w!l 
understand  it  allegorically  only. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  263. 

Contending  theatres  our  empire  raise, 
Alike  their  labours,  and  alike  their  praise. 

And  are  these  wonders,  son,  to  thee  unknown  7 
Unknown  to  thee  ?    These  wonders  are  thy  own. 
These  fate  reserved  to  grace  thy  reign  divine, 
Foreseen  by  me,  but,  ah !  withheld  from  mine. 
In  Lud's  old  walls  though  long  I  ruled,  renown'd 
Far  as  loud  Bow's  stupendous  bells  resound; 
Though  my  own  aldermen  conferr'd  the  bays, 
To  me  committing  their  eternal  praise,  280 

Their  full  fed  heroes,  their  pacific  mayors, 
Their  annual  trophies,  and  their  monthly  wars  : 
Though  long  my  party  built  on  me  their  hopes, 
For  writing  pamphlets,  and  for  roasting  popes  : 
Yet  lo  !  in  me  what  authors  have  to  brag  on  ! 
Reduced  at  last  to  hiss  in  my  own  dragon. 
Avert  it,  Heaven  !  that  thou,  my  Gibber,  e'er 
Shouldst  wag  a  serpent-tail  in  Smithfield  fair ! 
Like  the  vile  straw  that 's  blown  about  the  streets, 
The  needy  poet  sticks  to  all  he  meets,  290 

Coach'd,  carted,  trod  upon,  now  loose,  now  fast, 
And  carried  off  in  some  dog's  tail  at  last. 
Happier  thy  fortunes  !  like  a  rolling  stone, 
Thy  giddy  dulness  still  shall  lumber  on, 
Safe  in  its  heaviness  shall  never  stray, 
But  lick  up  every  blockhead  in  the  way. 

REMARKS. 

Vcr.  -282.  Annual  trophies  on  the  lord-mayor's  day;  and 
monthly  wais  in  the  artillery  ground. 

Ver.  283.  Though  l.mi?  my  party.]  Settle,  like  most 
party  writers,  was  very  uncertnin  in  his  political  principles. 
Ho  was  employed  to  hold  the  pen  in  the  character  ot'a  popish 
successor,  but  afterwards  printed  his  narrative  on  the  other 
side.  He  had  managed  the  ceremony  of  a  famous  pope- 
burning,  on  Nov.  17,  1680;  then  became  a  trooper  in  king 
James's  army,  at  Hounslow-hcath.  After  the  Revolution, 
he  kept  a  booth  at  Bartholomew-fair,  where,  in  the  droll 
called  St.  George  for  England,  be  acted  in  his  old  age,  in  a 
dragon  of  green  leather  of  his  own  invention;  he  was  at  last 
taken  into  the  Charter-house  and  there  died,  aged  sixty 
years 


264 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Thee  shall  the  patriot,  thee  the  courtier  taste, 

And  every  year  be  duller  than  the  last, 

Till  raised  from  booths,  to  theatre,  to  court, 

Her  seat  imperial  Dulness  shall  transport.  3CK) 

Already  opera  prepares  the  way, 

The  sure  forerunner  of  her  gentle  sway  ; 

Let  her  thy  heart,  next  drabs  and  dice,  engage, 

The  third  mad  passion  of  thy  doting  age. 

Teach  thou  the  warbling  Polypheme  to  roar, 

And  scream  thyself  as  none  e'er  scream'd  before  ' 

To  aid  our  cause,  if  heaven  thou  canst  not  bend, 

Hell  thou  shalt  move  ;  for  Faustus  is  our  friend  ; 

Pluto  with  Cato  thou  for  this  shalt  join, 

And  link  the  Mourning  Bride  to  Proserpine.          310 

Grub-street!  thy  fall  should  men  and  gods  conspire, 

Thy  stage  shall  stand,  insure  it  but  from  fire ; 


REMARKS. 


Ver.  297.  Thee  shall  the  patriot,  thee  the  courtier  taste,] 
It  stood  in  the  first  edition  with  blanks,  *  *  and  *  *.  Con- 
canen  was  sure  '  they  must  needs  mean  nobody  hut  King 
George  and  Queen  Caroline ;  and  said  he  would  insist  it  wag 
so,  till  the  poet  cleared  himself  by  filling  up  the  blanks 
otherwise,  agreeably  to  the  context,  and  consistent  with  his 
allegiance.'  Pref.  to  a  collection  of  verses,  Jplters,  &c. 
against  Mr.  P.  printed  for  A.  Moore,  p.  6. 

Ver.  305.  Polypheme.]  He  translated  the  Italian  opera 
of  Polifemo;  but  unfortunately  lost  the  whole  jest  of  the 
story.  The  Cyclop  asks  Ulysses  his  name,  who  tells  him 
hip  name  is  Noman  :  after  his  eye  is  put  out,  he  roars  and 
calls  the  brother-  Cyclops  to  his  aid  :  they  inquire  who  hai 
hurt  him?  he  answers  Nomaa :  whereupon  they  all  go 
nway  again.  Our  ingenious  translator  made  Ulysses  an- 
•wer,  I  take  no  name  ;  whereby  all  that  followed  became 
unintelligible.  Hence  it  appears  that  Mr.  Gibber  (who 
values  himself  on  subscribing  to  the  English  translation  of 
Homer's  Iliad)  had  not  that  merit  with  respect  to  tha 
Odyssey,  or  he  might  have  been  better  instructed  in  the 
Greek  punnology. 

Ver.  308,  3()<J.  Faustus,  Pluto,  &c.]  Names  of  misera 
ble  farces  which  it  was  the  custom  to  net  at  the  end  of  the 
best  tragedies,  to  spoil  the  digestion  of  the  audience. 

Ver.  312.  Insure  it  but  from  fire;]  In  Tibbald'e  farre 
of  Proserpine,  a  corn  field  was  But  on  fire;  whereupon  the 
other  playhouse  had  a  barn  burnt  down  for  the  recreation 


THE  DUNCIAD.  2f>5 

Another  JEschyltis  appears  !  prepare 
For  new  abortions,  all  ye  pregnant  fair  ! 
In  flames,  like  Semele's,  be  brought  to  bed, 
While  opening  hell  spouts  wild-fire  at  your  head. 

Now,  Bavius,  take  the  poppy  from  thy  brow, 
And  place  it  here  !  here,  all  ye  heroes,  bow  ! 

This,  this  is  he,  foretold  by  ancient  rhymes  : 
The  Augustus  born  to  bring  Saturnian  times.         320 
Signs  following  signs  lead  on  the  mighty  year; 
See !  the  dull  stars  roll  round  and  re-appear. 
See,  see,  our  own  true  Phoebus  wears  thy  bays  ! 
Our  Midas  sits  lord  chancellor  of  plays! 
On  poets'  tombs  see  Benson's  titles  writ ! 
Lo  !  Ambrose  Phillips  is  preferr'd  for  wit ! 

REMARKS. 

of  the  spectators.     They  also  rivalled  each  other  in  showing 
the;  burnings  of  hell-fire,  in  Dr.  Faustus. 

Vet.  313.  AnoMier yEschylua  appears!]  It  is  reported  of 
/Eschylus,  thai  when  his  tragedy  of  the  Furies  was  acted, 
that  the  audience  were  so  terrified,  that  the  children  fell  into 
fits,  and  the  big-bellied  women  miscarried. 

Ver.  325.  On  poets'  tombs  see  Benson's  titles  writ!] 
W — m  Benson  (surveyor  of  the  buildings  to  his  majesty  K. 
George  I.)  gave  in  a  report  to  the  lords,  that  their  House  and 
Painted-cMnimbc-r  adjoining  were  in  immediate  danger  of 
fulling.  Whereupon  the  lords  met  in  a  committee  to  ap 
point  some  oilier  place  to  sit  in,  while  the  house  should  be 
taken  down.  But  it  being  proposed  to  cause  some  oilier 
builders  first  to  inspect  il,  they  found  it  in  very  good  condi 
tion.  'The  lords,  upon  this,  were  going  upon  an  address  to 
the  king  ngainst  Benson,  for  such  a  misrepresentation  ;  but 
the  earl  of  Sundt-rlaml,  then  secretary,  gave  them  an  assur 
ance  that  his  majesty  would  remove  him,  which  was  done 
accordingly.  In  favour  of  this  man,  the  famous  sir  Christo 
pher  Wren,  who  had  been  architect  to  the  crown  for  above 
fifty  years,  who  had  built  most  of  the  churches  in  London, 
laid  the  first  stone  of  St.  Paul's,  and  lived  to  finish  it,  had 
been  displaced  from  his  employment  at  the  age  of  near 
ninety  years. 

Ver.  320.  Ambrose  Phillips.]  '  Ho  was,'  saith  Sir.  Jacob, 
',one  of  the  wits  at  Button's,  and  a  justice  of  the  ptace:' 
but  he  hath  since  met  with  higher  preferment  in  Ireland  : 
and  a  much  greater  character  we  have  of  him  in  Mr.  Gil- 
don's  Complete  Art  of  Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  J57.  'Indeed  he 
confesses,  he  dures  not  set  him  quite  on  the  name  foot  with 

Vor..  II.  18 


266         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

See  under  Ripley  rise  a  new  Whitehall, 
While  Jones'  and  Boyle's  united  labours  fall  : 
While  Wren  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  descends, 
Gay  dies  unpension'd,  with  a  hundred  friends ;      330 

REMARKS. 

Virgil,  lest  it  should  seem  flattery,  but  he  is  much  mistaken 
if  posterity  does  not  afford  him  a  greater  esteem  than  he  at 
present  enjoys.'  He  endeavoured  10  create  some  misunder 
standing  between  our  author  and  Mr.  Addison,  whom  also 
soon  after  he  abused  as  much.  His  constant  cry  was,  that 
Mr.  P.  was  an  enemy  to  the  government;  and  in  particular 
he  was  the  avowed  author  of  a  report  very  industriously 
spread,  that  he  had  a  hand  in  a  party-paper  called  the  Ex 
arniner:  a  falsehood  well  known  to  those  yet  living,  who 
had  the  direction  and  publication  of  it. 

Ver.  328.  While  Jones' and  Boyle's  united  labours  fall:} 
At  the  time  when  this  poem  was  written,  the  ban<iueting- 
liouse  of  Whitehall,  the  church  and  piazza  of  Covent-gar- 
den,  and  the  palace  and  chapel  of  Somerset-house,  the 
works  of  the  famous  Inigo  Jones,  had  been  for  many  years 
so  neglected,  as  to  be  in  danger  of  ruin.  The  portico  of 
Covent-garden  church  had  been  just  then  restored  and 
beautified,  at  the  expense  of  the  carl  of  Burlington  ;  who,  at 
the  same  time,  by  his  publicaiionof  the  designs  of  that  great 
master  and  Palladio,  as  well  as  by  many  noble  buildings  of 
his  own,  revived  the  true  taste  of  architecture  in  this  king 
dom. 

Ver.  330.  Gay  dies  unpension'd,  &e.]  See  Mr.  Gay's 
fable  of  the  Hare  and  many  Friends.  This  gentleman  was 
early  in  the  friendship  of  our  author,  which  continued  to  his 
death.  Ho  wrote  several  works  of  humour  with  great  suc 
cess,  the  Shepherd's  Week,  Trivia,  the  What  d'ye  call  it, 
Fables,  and  lastly  the  celebrated  Beggar's  Opera;  a  piece 
of  sa'ire  which  hit  all  tastes  and  degrees  of  men,  from  ihosa 
of  the  highest  quality  to  the  very  rabble:  that  verse  of 
Horace, 

'  Primores  populi  arripuit,  populumque  tributim,' 

could  never  be  so  justly  applied  as  t^o  this.  The  vast  suc 
cess  ofit  was  unprecedented,  and  almost  incredible;  what  is 
related  of  the  wonderful  effects  of  the  ancient  music  or 
trasedy  hardly  came  up  to  it :  Sophocles  and  Euripides 
were  less  followed  and  famous.  It  was  acted  in  London 
sixty-three  days,  uninterrupted  ;  and  renewed  the  next  sea- 
ion  with  equal  applauses.  It  spread  into  all  the  great 
towns  of  England,  was  played  in  many  places  to  the  thirtieth 
and  fortieth  time,  and  at  Bath  and  Bris'ol  fifty,  &c.  It 
made  its  progress  into  Wales,  Scotland,  and  Ireland  where 


THE  DUNCIAD.  267 

Hibernian  politics,  O  Swift !  thy  fate  ; 

And  Pope's,  ten  years  to  comment  and  translate. 

Proceed,  great  days  !  till  learning  fly  the  shore, 
Till  birch  shall  blush  with  noble  blood  no  more, 

REMARKS. 

it  was  performed  twenty-four  days  together ;  it  was  last 
ucted  in  Minorca.  The  fame  of  it  was  not  confined  to  the 
author  only ;  the  ladies  carried  about  with  thorn  the  favour 
ite  songs  of  it  in  funs ;  and  houses  were  furnished  with  it  in 
screens.  The  person  who  acted  Polly,  till  then  obscure,  be 
came  at  once  the  favourite  of  the  town:  her  pictures  were 
engraved,  and  sold  in  great  numbers,  her  life  written,  books 
of  letters  and  verses  to  her  published  ;  and  pamphlets  made 
even  of  her  sayings  and  jests. 

Furthermore,  it  drove  out  of  England,  for  that  season,  the 
Italian  opera,  which  had  carried  all  before  it  for  ten  years. 
Thai  idol  of  the  nobility  and  people,  which  t'ie  great  critic 
Mr.  Dennis  by  the  labouts  and  outcries  of  a  whole  life  could 
not  overthrow,  was  demolished  by  a  single  stroke  of  this 
gentleman's  pen.  This  happened  in  the  year  1728.  Yet  so 
great  was  his  modesty,  that  he  constantly  prefixed  to  all  the 
editions  of  it  this  molto:  JVos  hcec  noviinus  csse  nihil. 

Ver.  332.  And  Pope's,  ten  years  to  comment  and  trans 
late.]  The  author  here  plainly  laments,  that  he  was  so  long 
employfd  in  translating  and  commentins.  He  began  the 
Iliad  in  1713,  and  finished  it  in  1719.  The  edition  ofSlmk- 
speare  (which  he  undertook  merely  because  nobody  else 
would)  took  up  near  two  years  more  in  the  drudgery  of  com 
paring  impressions,  rectifying  the  scenery,  &c.  and  the  trans 
lation  of  the  Odyssey  employed  him  from  that  time  to  1725. 

Vcr.  333.  Proceed,  great  days'.  &c.]  It  may,  perhaps, 
peem  incredible,  that  so  great  a  revolution  in  learning  as  ig 
here  prophesied,  should  be  brought  about  by  such  weak  in 
struments  as  have  been  [hitherto]  described  in  pur  poem: 
but  do  not  thon,  gentle  reader,  rest  too  secure  in  thy  con 
tempt  of  these  instruments.  Remember  what  the  Dutch 
stories  somewhere  relate,  that  a  great  part  of  their  provinces 
was  once  overflowed,  by  a  small  opening  made  in  ono  of 
their  dykes  by  a  single  water  rat. 

However,  that  such  is  not  seriously  the  judgment  of  our 
poet,  but  that  he  conceiveth  better  hopes  from  the  diligence 
of  our  schools,  from  the  regularity  of  our  universities,  tho 
discernment  of  our  great  men,  the  accomplishments  of  our 
nobility,  the  encouragement  of  our  patrons,  and  the  genius 
of  our  writers  of  all  kinds  (notwithstanding  some  few  ex 
ceptions  in  each,)  may  plainly  be  seen  from  his  conclusion; 
where,  causing  all  this  vision  topa=s  through  the  ivo'ygatei 
he  expressly,  in  the  language  of  poesy,  declares  all  such  im 
aginations  to  be  wild,  ungrounded,  and  fictitious.  Scribl. 


263 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Till  Thames  see  Eton's  sons  for  ever  play, 
Till  Westminster's  whole  year  be  holiday, 
Till  Isis'  elders  reel,  their  pupils  sport, 
And  alma  mater  lie  dissolved  in  port !' 

'Enough  !  enough  !' — the  raptured  monarch  cries, 
And  through  the  ivory  gate  the  vision  flies.  340 


BOOK  THE  FOURTH. 

ARGUMENT. 

1'he  poet  being,  in  this  hook,  to  declare  the  completion 
of  the  prophecies  mentioned  at  the  end  of  the  former 
makes  a  new  invocation  ;  as  the  greater  poets  are 
wont,  when  some  high  and  worthy  matter  is  to  be 
sung.  He  shows  the  goddess  coming  in  her  majesty, 
to  destroy  order  and  science,  and  to  substitute  the 
kingdom  of  the  Dull  upon  earth.  How  she  leads  cap 
tive  the  sciences,  and  silences  the  muses;  and  what 
they  be  who  succeed  in  their  stead.  All  her  children, 
by  a  wonderful  attraction,  are  (brawn  about  her;  and 
bear  along  with  them  divets  others,  who  promote  her 
empire  by  connivance,  weak  resistance,  or  discourage 
ment  of  arts;  such  as  half-wits,  tasteless  admirers, 
vain  pretenders,  the  flatterers  of  dunces,  or  the  patrons 
of  them.  All  these  crowd  round  her;  one  of  them, 
offering  to  approach  her,  is  driven  back  by  a  rival,  but 
she  commends  and  encourages  both.  The  first  who 
speak  in  form  are  the  geniuses  of  the  schools,  who  as 
sure  hcrof  their  care  to  advance  her  cause  by  confining 
youth  to  words,  and  keeping  them  out  of  the  way  of 
real  knowledge.  Their  address,  and  her  gracious  an 
swer;  with  her  charge  to  them  and  the  universities. 
The  universities  appear  by  their  proper  deputies,  and 
assure  her  that  tin;  same  method  is  observed  in  the 
progress  of  education.  The  speech  of  Aristarchus  on 
this  subject.  They  are  driven  off  by  a  band  of  young 
gentlemen  returned  from  travel  with  their  tutors; 
one  of  whom  delivers  to  the  goddess,  in  a  polite  ora 
tion,  an  account  of  the  whole  conduct  and  fruits  of 
their  travels;  presenting  to  her  at  the  same  time  a 


THE  DUNCIAD.  269 

young  nobleman  perfectly  accomplished.    She  receives 
him   graciously,   and  endues   him  with    the    happy 


quality  of  want  of  shame.  She  sees  loitering  about 
her  a  number  of  indolent  persons  abandoning  all  busi 
ness  and  duly,  and  dying  with  laziness:  to  these  ap 
proaches  the  antiquary  Annius,  entreating  her  to 
make  them  virtuosos,  and  assign  them  over  to  him; 
but  Mummius,  another  antiquary,  complaining  of  his 
fraudulent  proceeding,  she  finds  a  method  to  reconcile 
their  difference.  Then  enter  a  troop  of  people  fantas 
tically  adorned,  offering  her  strange  and  exotic  pre 
sents:  amongst  them,  one  stands  forth  and  demands 
justice  on  another,  who  had  deprived  him  of  one  of 
the  greatest  curiosities  in  nature;  but  he  justifies  him 
self  so  well,  that  the  goddess  gives  them  both  her  ap 
probation.  She  recommends  to  them  to  find  propel 
employment  for  the  indolents  before  mentioned,  in  the 
study  of  butterflies,  shells,  birds'  nests,  moss,  &c  ,  but 
with  particular  caution,  not  to  proceed  beyond  trifles, 
to  any  useful  or  extensive  views  of  nature,  or  of  the 
Author  of  nature.  Against  the  last  of  these  appre 
hensions,  she  is  secured  by  a  hearty  address  from  the 
minute  philosophers  and  free-thinkers,  one  of  whom 
speaks  in  the  name  of  the  rest.  The  youth  thus  in 
structed  and  principled,  are  delivered  to  her  in  a  body, 
by  the  hands  of  Silenus;  and  then  admitted  to  taste 
the  cup  of  the  Magus,  her  high  priest,  which  causes  a 
total  oblivion  of  all  obligations,  divine,  civil,  moral 
or  rational.  To  these,  her  adepts,  she  sends  priests, 
attendants,  and  comforters,  of  various  kinds;  confers 
on  them  orders  and  degrees;  and  then  dismissing  them 
with  a  speech,  confirming  to  each  his  privileges,  and 
telling  what  she  expects  from  each,  concludes  with  a 
yawn  of  extraordinary  virtue:  the  progress  and  effects 
whereof  on  all  orders  of  men,  and  the  consummation 
of  all  in  the  restoration  of  night  and  chaos,  conclndi 
the  poem. 


BOOK  IV. 

YET,  yet  a  moment,  one  dim  ray  of  light 
Indulge,  dread  Chaos,  and  eternal  Night  I 


270          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Of  darkness  visible  so  much  be  lent, 
As  half  to  show,  half  veil  the  deep  intent. 
Ye  powers  !  whose  mysteries  restored  I  sing, 
To  whom  Time  bears  me  on  his  rapid  wing, 
Suspend  a  while  your  force  inertly  strong, 
Then  take  at  once  the  poet  and  the  song. 

Now  flamed  the  dog-star's  unpropitious  ray, 
Smote  every  brain,  and  wither'd  every  bay  :  10 

Sick  was  the  sun,  the  owl  forsook  his  bower, 
The  moon-struck  prophet  felt  the  madding  hour : 
Then  ,rose  the  seed  of  Chaos  and  of  Night, 
To  blot  out  order,  and  extinguish  light, 
Of  dull  and  venal  a  new  world  to  mould, 
And  bring  Saturnian  days*bf  lead  and  gold. 

REMARKS. 

Tliis  book  may  proper'y  be  distinguished  from  the  former, 
by  the  name  of  the  Greater  Dunciad,  not  so  indeed  in  size, 
but  in  subject ;  and  so  far  contrary  to  the  distinction  an 
ciently  made  of  the  Greater  and  Lesser  Iliad.  But  mucli 
are  they  mistaken  who  imagine  this  work  in  any  wise  infe 
rior  to  the  former,  or  of  any  other  hand  than  of  our  poet ;  of 
which  I  am  much  more  certain  than  that  the  Iliad  itself  was 
the  work  of  Solomon,  or  the  Batracliomuomuchia  of  Homer, 
as  Barnes  hath  affirmed.  Bentl. 

Ver.  J,  &c.]  This  is  an  invocation  of  much  piety.  The 
poet,  willing  to  approve  himself  a  genuine  son,  beginneth 
by  showing  (what  is  ever  agreeable  to  Dulness)  his  high  re 
spect  for  antiquity  and  a  great  family,  how  dead  or  dark 
soever:  next  declareth  his  passion  for  explaining  mysteries; 
and  lastly  his  impatience  to  be  re-united  to  her.  Scribl. 

Ver.  2.  tfread  Chaos,  and  eternal  Night!]  Invoked,  as 
the  restoration  of  their  empire  is  the  action  of  the  poem. 

Ver.  14.  To  blot  out  order,  and  extinguish  light,]  The 
two  great  ends  of  her  mission  :  the  one  in  quality  of  daughter 
of  Chaos,  the  other  as  daughter  of  Night.  Order  here  is  to 
be  understood  extensively,  both  as  civil  and  moral ;  the  dis 
tinction  between  high  and  low  in  society,  and  true  and  falso 
in  individuals:  light  as  intellectual  only,  wit,  science,  arts. 
Ver.  15.  Of  dull  and  venal.]  The  allegory  continued ; 
dull  referring  to  the  extinction  of  light  or  science  :  venal  to 
the  destruction  of  order,  and  the  truth  of  things. 

Ibid.  A  new  world.]  In  allusion  to  the  Epicurean 
opinion,  that  from  the  dissolution  of  the  natural  world  into 
Night  and  Chaos,  a  new  one  should  arise;  this  the  poet  al 
uding  to,  in  the  production  of  a  new  moral  world,  makes  il 
partake  of  its  original  principles. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  271 

She  mounts  the  throne :   her  head  a  cloud  con- 

ceal'd, 

in  broad  effulgence  all  below  reveal'd : 
('Tis  thus  aspiring  Dulness  ever  shines:) 
Soft  on  her  lap  her  laureate  son  reclines.  20 

Beneath  her  footstool,  science  groans  in  chains, 
And  wit  dreads  exile,  penalties,  and  pains. 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  16.     Load  and  gold.]     i.  e.  dull  and  venal. 

Ver.  20.  Her  laureate  sou  reclines.]  With  great  judg 
ment  it  is  imagined  by  the  poet,  tliat  such  a  colleague  as 
Dulness  had  elected,  should  sleep  on  the  throne,  anil  have 
very  little  share  in  the  action  of  the  poem.  Accordingly  he 
hatii  done  little  or  nothing  from  the  day  of  his  anointing; 
having  passed  through  the  second  book  without  taking  part 
in  any  thing  that  was  transacted  about  him;  and  through 
the  third  in  profound  sleep.  Nor  ought  this,  well  consider 
ed,  to  seem  strange  in  our  days,  when  so  many  king-consorts 
have  done  the  like.  Scribl. 

This  verse  our  excellent  laureate  took  BO  to  heart,  that  he 
appealed  to  all  mankind,  'if  he  was  not  as  seldom  asleep  as 
any  fool!'  But  it  is  hoped  the  poet  hath  not  injured  him, 
but  rather  verified  his  prophecy  (p.  243  of  his  own  Life,  8vo. 
ch.  ix.)  where  he  says,  'the  reader  will  bo  as  much  pleased 
to  find  me  a  dunce  in  my  old  age,  as  he  was  to  prove  me  a 
brisk  blockhead  in  my  youth.'  Wherever  there  was  any 
room  for  briskness,  or  alacrity  of  any  sort,  even  in  sinking, 
he  hath  had  it  allowed;  but  here,  whore  there  is  nothing  for 
him  to  do  but  to  take  his  natural  rest,  he  must  permit  his 
historian  to  be  silent.  It  is  from  their  actions  only  that 
princes  have  their  character,  and  poets  from  their  works; 
and  if  in  those  he  be  as  much  asleep  as  any  fool,  the  poet 
must  leave  him  and  them  to  sleep  lo  all  eternity.  Be.nll. 

Ibid.  Her  laureate.]  'When  I  find  my  name  in  the  sa 
tirical  works  of  this  poet,  I  never  look  upon  it  as  any  malice 
meant  to  me,  hut  profit  to  himself.  For  ho  considers  that 
my  face  is  more  known  than  most  in  the  nation;  and  there 
fore  a  lick  at  the  laureate  will  be  a  sure  bait  ad  captandum 
vulffus,  to  catch  little  readers.'  Life  of  Colley  Cibber,  ch.  ii. 

Now  if  it  be  certain,  that  the  works  of  our  poet  have 
owed  their  success  to  this  ingenious  expedient,  we  hence  de 
rive  an  unanswerable  argument,  thiit  this  fourth  Dunciad, 
as  well  as  the  former  three,  hath  had  the  author's  last  hand, 
and  was-by  him  intended  for  the  press :  or  else  to  '.vliat  pur 
pose  hath  he  crowned  it,  as  we  see,  by  this  finishing  strnke. 
the  profitable  lick  at  the  laureate  7  Benll. 

Ver.  21,  22.    Beneath  her  footstool,  &c.]    We  are  nexl 


272         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

There  foam'd  rebellious  logic,  gagg'd  and  bound  , 

There,  stripp'd,  fair  rhetoric  languished  on  the  ground 

His  blunted  arms  by  sophistry  are  borne, 

And  shameless  Billingsgate  her  robes  adorn. 

Morality,  by  her  false  guardians  drawn, 

Chicane  in  furs,  and  casuistry  in  lawn, 

Gasps,  as  they  straighten  at  each  end  the  cord, 

And  dies,  when  Dulness  gives  her  Page  the  word  30 

Mad  Mathesis  alone  was  unconfined, 

Too  mad  for  mere  material  chains  to  bind, 

Now  to  pure  space  lifts  her  ecstatic  stare, 

Now  running  round  the  circle,  finds  it  square. 

But  held  in  tenfold  bonds  the  Muses  lie, 

Watch'd  both  by  Envy's  and  by  Flattery's  eye  ; 

There  to  her  heart  sad  Tragedy  address'd 

The  dagger  wont  to  pierce  the  tyrant's  breast ; 

But  sober  History  restrain'd  her  rage, 

And  promised  T  engeance  on  a  barbarous  age.          40 

REMARKS. 

presented  with  the  picture  of  those  whom  the  goddess  leads 
into  captivity  Science  is  only  depressed  and  confined  so  aa 
to  be  rendered  useless;  but  wit  or  genius,  as  a  more  danger 
ous  and  active  enemy,  punished,  or  driven  away:  Dulncsg 
being  often  reconciled  in  some  degree  with  learning,  but 
rover  upon  any  terms  with  wit.  And  accordingly  it  will  ho 
seen  that  she  admits  something  like  each  science,  as  casuis 
try,  sophistry,  &c.  but  nothing  like  wit;  opera  alone  supply 
ing  its  place. 

Ver.  30.  Gives  her  Page  the  word.]  There  was  a  judge 
af  this  name,  always  ready  to  hang  any  man  that  came  be- 
"ore  him,  of  which  he  was  suffered  to  give  a  hundred  mise 
rable  examples,  during  a  long  life,  even  to  his  dotage.— 
Though  the  candid  Scriblerus  imagined  Page  here  to  mean 
no  more  than  a  page  or  mute,  and  to  allude  to  the  custom 
of  strangling  state  criminals  in  Turkey  by  mutes  or  pages. 
A  practice  more  decent  than  that  of  our  Pago,  who  before 
he  hanged  any  one,  loaded  him  with  reproachful  language. 

Scribl. 

Ver.  39.  But  sober  History.]  History  attends  on  tragedy, 
tatire  on  comedy,  as  their  substitutes  in  the  discharge  of 
their  distinct  functions;  the  one  in  high  life,  recording  the 
crimes  and  punishments  of  the  great;  the  other  in  low,  ex 
posing  the  vices  or  follies  of  the  common  people  But  it 


I 


THE  DUNCIAD.  273 

There  sunk  Thalia,  nerveless,  cold,  and  dead, 

Had  not  her  sister  Satire  held  her  head  : 

Nor  couldst  thou,  Chesterfield  !  a  tear  refuse  ; 

Thou  weptst,  and  with  thee  wept  each  gentle  muse ; 

When  lo  !  a  harlot  form  soft  sliding  by, 

With  mincing  step,  small  voice,  and  languid  eye : 


may  be  asked,  how  came  history  and  satire  to  be  admitted 
with  impunity  to  administer  comfort  to  the  Muses,  even  in 
the  presence  of  the  goddess,  und  in  the  midst  of  all  her  tri 
umphs?  '  A  question,'  says  Scriblerus,  '  which  we  thus  re- 
golve:  History  was  brought  up  in  her  infancy  by  Dulnesa 
herself ;  but  being  afterwards  espoused  into  a  noble  house, 
ihe  forgot  (as  is  usual)  the  humility  of  her  birth,  and  tho 
cares  of  her  early  friends.  This  occasioned  a  long  estrange 
ment  between  her  and  Dulness.  At  length,  in  process  of 
ti.ne,  they  met  together  in  a  monk's  cell,  were  reconciled, 
and  became  better  friends  than  ever.  After  this  they  had  a 
second  quarrel,  but  it  held  not  long,  and  are  now  again  on 
reasonable  terms,  and  so  are  likely  to  continue.'  This  ac 
counts  for  the  connivance  shown  to  history  on  this  occasion. 
But  the  boldness  of  satire  springs  from  a  very  different 
cause  ;  for  the  reader  ought  to  know,  that  she  alone  of  all 
the  sisters  is  unconquerable,  never  to  be  silenced,  when  truly 
inspired  and  animated  (as  should  seem)  from  above,  for  this 
very  purpose,  to  oppose  the  kingdom  of  Dulness  to  her  last 
breath. 

Ver.  43.  Nor  couldst  thou,  &c.]  'This  noble  person  in 
the  year  1737,  when  the  act  aforesaid  was  brought  into  Ihe 
house  of  Lords,  opposed  it  in  an  excellent  speech,'  says  Mr. 
Gibber,  'with  a  lively  spirit,  and  uncommon  eloquence.* 
This  speech  had  the  honour  to  be  answered  by  the  said  Mr. 
Gibber,  with  a  lively  spirit  also,  and  in  a  manner  very  un 
common,  in  the  eighth  chapter  of  his  Life  and  Manners. 
And  bere,  gentle  reader,  would  I  gladly  insert  the  other 
speech,  whereby  thou  mightest  judge  between  them  ;  but  I 
must  defer  it  on  account  of  lome  differences  not  yet  adjusted 
between  the  noble  author  and  myself,  concerning  the  true 
reading  of  certain  passages.  Bentl. 

Ver.  45.  Whenlo!  a  harlot  form]  The  attitude  given 
to  this  phantom  represents  the  nature  and  genius  of  the 
Italian  opera;  its  affected  airs,  effeminate  sounds,  and  the 
practice  of  patching  up  these  operas  with  favourite  songs, 
incoherently  put  together.  These  things  were  supported  by 
the  subscriptions  of  the  nobility.  This  circumstance,  that 
opera  should  prepare  for  the  opening  of  the  grand  sessions, 
was  prophesied  of  in  Book  iii.  ver.  305. 


874        POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Foreign  her  air,  her  robe's  discordant  pride 

In  patch-work  fluttering,  and  her  head  aside  ; 

By  singing  peers  upheld  on  either  hand, 

She  tripp'd  and  laugh'd,  too  pretty  much  to  stand,  50 

Cast  on  the  prostrate  Nine  a  scornful  look, 

Then  thus  in  quaint  recitativo  spoke  : 

'  O  Cara  !  Cara!  silence  all  that  train  : 
Joy  to  great  Chaos  !  let  division  reign  : 
Chromatic  tortures  soon  shall  drive  them  hence, 
Break  all  their  nerves  and  fritter  all  t^.eir  sense ; 
One  trill  shall  harmonize  joy,  grief,  and  rage, 
Wake  the  dull  church,  and  lull  the  ranting  stage; 
To  the  same  notes  thy  sons  shall  hum,  or  snore, 
And  all  thy  yawning  daughters  cry,  encore.  60 

Another  Phcebus,  thy  own  Phoebus,  reigns, 
Joys  in  my  jigs,  and  dances  in  my  chains. 
But  soon,  ah  soon  !  rebellion  will  commence, 
If  music  meanly  borrows  aid  from  sense  : 
Strong  in  new  arms,  lo  !  giant  Handel  stands, 
Like  bold  Briareus,  with  a  hundred  hands : 
To  stir,  to  rouse,  to  shake  the  soul  he  comes, 
And  Jove's  own  thunders  follow  3Iars's  drums. 
Arrest  him,  empress,  or  you  sleep  no  more — '         70 
She  heard,  and  drove  him  to  the  Hibernian  shore. 

And  now  had  Fame's  posterior  trumpet  blown, 
And  all  the  nations  summon'd  to  the  throne. 


'  Already  Opera  prepares  the  way, 
The  sure  forerunner  of  her  gentle  sway.' 
Ver.  54.  Lei  division  reign  :]  Alluding  to  I  he  false  taste  of 
playing  tricks  in  music  with  numberless  divisions,  to  the  ne 
gleet  of  that  harmony  which  conforms  to  the  sense,  and  ap 
plies  to  the  passions.  Mr.  Handel  lind  introduced  a  great 
number  of  hands,  and  more  variety  of  instruments  into  the 
orchestra,  and  employed  even  drums  anil  cannon  lo  make  a 
fuller  chorus;  which  proved  so  much  too  manly  for  the  fine 
gentlemen  of  his  age,  that  lie  was  obliged  to  remove  hismu 
eic  into  Iieland.  After  which  they  were  reduced,  for  want 
of  composers,  to  practice  the  patch- work  ubove-mentioned 


THE  DUNCIAb.  275 

The  young,  the  old,  who  feel  her  inward  sway, 

One  instinct  seizes,  and  transports  away. 

None  need  a  guide,  by  sure  attraction  led, 

And  strong  impulsive  gravity  of  head  : 

None  want  a  place,  for  all  their  centre  found 

Hung  to  the  goddess,  and  coher'd  around. 

Not  closer,  orb  in  orb,  conglob'd  are  seen 

The  buzzing  bees  about  their  dusky  queen.  SO 

The  gathering  number,  as  it  moves  along, 
Involves  a  vast  involuntary  throng,   < 
V\  ho,  gently  drawn,  and  struggling  less  and  less, 
Roll  in  her  vortex,  and  her  pow'r  confess: 
Not  those  alone  who  passive  own  her  laws, 
But  who,  weak  rebels,  more  advance  her  cause 
Whate'er  of  Dunce  in  college  or  in  town 
Sneers  at  another,  in  toupee  or  gown ; 
Whate'er  of  mongrel  no  one  class  admits, 
A  wit  with  dunces,  and  a  dunqe  with  wits.  90 

Nor  absent  they,  no  members  of  her  state, 
Who  pay  her  homage  in  her  sons,  the  great ; 
Who,  false  to  Phcebus,  bow  the  knee  to  Baal, 
Or  impious,  preach  his  word  without  a  call; 
Patrons,  who  sneak  from  living  worth  to  dead, 
Withhold  the  pension,  and  set  up  the  head  ; 
Or  vest  dull  flattery  in  the  sacred  gown, 
Or  give  from  fool  to  fool  the  laurel  crown  : 
And  (last  and  worst)  with  all  the  cant  of  wit, 
Without  the  soul,  the  muse's  hypocrite.  100 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  76  to  101.  It  ought  to  be  observed  lhal  here  are  throe 
classes  in  this  assembly.  The  first,  of  men  absolutely  nnd 
avowedly  dull,  who  naturally  adhere  to  tho  goddess,  and  are 
imaged  in  the  simile  of  the  bees  about  their  queen.  Tho 
Becond  involuntarily  drawn  to  her,  though  not  caring  to  own 
her  influence;  from  ver.  81  to  90.  The  third,  of  such  as, 
though  not  members  of  her  state,  yet  advance  her  service 
by  flattering  Dulness,  cultivating  mistaken  talents,  patronis 
ing  vile  scribblers,  discouraging  living  merit,  or  setting  up 
for  wits,  and  men  of  taste  in  arts  they  understand  net ;  from 
ver.  91  to  101. 


276          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

There  rnarch'd  the  bard  and  blockhead  side  bj 

side, 

Who  rhym'd  for  hire,  and  patroniz'd  for  pride. 
Narcissus,  prais'd  with  all  a  parson's  power, 
Look'd  a  white  lily  sunk  beneath  a  shower. 
There  mov'd  Montalto  with  superior  air ; 
His  stretch'd-out  arm  display'd  a  volume  fair; 
Courtiers  and  patriots  in  two  ranks  divide, 
Through  both  he  pass'd,  and  bow'd  from  side  to  side; 
But  as  in  graceful  act,  with  awful  eye, 
Compos'd  he  stood,  bold  Benson  thrust  him  by  :  110 
On  two  unequal  crutches  propt  he  came, 
Milton's  on  this,  on  that  one  Johnston's  name 
The  decent  knight  retir'd  with  sober  rage, 
Withdrew  his  hand,  and  clos'd  the  pompous  page ; 
But  (happy  for  him  as  the  times  went  then) 
Appear'd  Apollo's  mayor  and  aldermen, 
On  whom  three  hundred  gold-capt  youths  await, 
To  lug  the  ponderous  volume  off  in  state. 

When  Dulness,  smiling — '  Thus  revive  the  wits  ! 
But  murder  first,  and  mince  them  all  to  bits  ;          120 

REMARKS. 

Vet.  108.  — bow'd  from  side  to  side:]  As  being  of  no  one 
party. 

Ver.  110.  Bold  Benson.]  This  man  endeavoured  to  raise 
himself  to  fame  by  erecting  monuments,  striking  coins,  setting 
up  heads,  and  procuring  translations  of  Milton;  and  after 
wards  by  as  great  a  passion  for  Arthur  Johnston,  a  Scotch 
physician's  Version  of  the  Psalms,  of  which  he  printed  many 
fine  editions.  See  more  of  him,  Book  iii.  ver.  325. 

Ver.  113.  The  decent  knight.]  An  eminent  person  who 
was  about  to  publish  a  very  pompous  edition  of  a  great  au 
thor  at  his  own  expense. 

Ver.  115,  &c.]  These  four  lines  were  printed  in  a  sepa 
rate  leaf  by  Mr.  Pope  in  the  last  edition,  which  he  himself 
gave,  of  the  Dnnciad,  with  directions  to  the  printer,  to  put 
this  leaf  into  its  place  as  soon  as  Sir  T.  H.'s  Shnkspearo 
ihould  he  published. 

Ver.  119.  'Thus  revive,'  &c.]  The  goddess  applauds 
the  practice  of  tacking  the  obscure  names  of  persons  not 
eminent  in  any  branch  of  learning,  to  those  of  the  most  dis 
tinguished  writers;  either  by  printing  editions  of  theii  works 


THE  DUNCIAD.  277 

As  etst  Medea  (cruel,  so  to  save !) 

A  new  edition  of  old  JEson  gave; 

Let  standard  authors  thus,  like  trophies  borne, 

Appear  more  glorious  as  more  hack'd  and  torn 

And  you,  my  critics  !  in  the  chequer'd  shade, 

Admire  new  light  thro'  holes  yourselves  have  made. 

Leave  not  a  foot  of  verse,  a  foot  of  stone, 

A  page,  a  grave,  that  they  can  call  their  own  ; 

But  spread,  my  sons,  your  glory  thin  or  thick, 

On  passive  paper,  or  on  solid  brick ;  130 

So  by  each  bard  an  alderman  shall  sit, 

A  heavy  lord  shall  hang  at  every  wit, 

And  while  on  Fame's  triumphant  car  they  ride, 

Some  slave  of  mine  be  pinion'd  to  their  side.' 

Now  crowds  on  crowds  around  the  goddess  press, 
Each  eager  to  present  the  first  address. 
Dunce  scorning  dunce  behold  the  next  advance, 
But  fop  shows  fop  superior  complaisance. 


REMARKS. 

with  impertinent  alterations  of  their  text,  as  in  former  in 
stances ;  or  by  setting  U[>  monuments  disgraced  with  their 
own  vile  names  and  inscriptions,  as  in  the  latter. 

Ver.  128.  A  page,  a  grave,]  For  what  less  than  a  grave 
can  be  granted  to  a  dead  author!  or  what  less  than  a  page 
can  be  allowed  a  living  one  7 

Ibid.  A  page,]  Pagina,  not  pedissequvs.  A  page  of  a 
book,  not  a  servant,  follower,  or  attendant;  no  poet  having 
hud  a  page  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Thomas  Durfey.  Scribl. 

Ver.  131.  So  by  each  bard  an  alderman,  &.C.]  Vide  the 
Tombs  of  the  Poets,  editio  Westmonaeterienais. 

Ibid.  — an  alderman  shall  sit,]  Alluding  to  the  monu 
ment  erected  for  Butler  by  alderman  Barber. 

Ver.  132.  A  heavy  lord  shall  hang  at  every  wit,]  How 
unnatural  an  image,  and  how  ill  supported!  saith  Aristar- 
chus.  Had  it  been, 

A  heavy  wit  shall  hang  at  every  lojd, 

something  might  have  been  said,  in  an  age  so  distinguished 
for  well-judging  patrons.  For  lord,  then,  read  load ;  that  is, 
of  debts  here,  and  of  commentaries  hereafter.  To  this  pur 
pose,  conspicuous  is  the  case  of  the  poor  author  of  Hudibias. 
whose  body,  long  since  weighed  down  to  the  grave  by  a  load 
of  debts,  has  latelv  had  a  more  unmerciful  load  of  commea 


278          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

When  lo  !  a  spectre  rose,  whose  index-hand 
Held  forth  the  virtue  of  the  dreadful  wand  ;  140 

His  beaver'd  brow  a  birchen  garland  wears, 
Dropping  with  infants'  blood  and  mothers'  tears. 
O'er  every  vein  a  shuddering  horror  runs; 
Eton  and  Winton  shake  through  all  their  sons. 
All  flesh  is  humbled,  Westminster's  bold  race 
Shrink,  and  confess  the  Genius  of  the  place  : 
The  pale  boy-senator  yet  tingling  stands, 
And  holds  his  breeches  close  with  both  his  hands. 
Then  thus :  '  Since  man  from  beast  by  words  is 

known, 

Words  are  man's  province,  words  we  teach  alone.  15C 
When  reason,  doubtful,  like  the  Samian  letter, 
Points  him  two  ways,  the  narrower  is  the  better. 

REMARKS. 

tarie*  laid  upon  his  spirit;  wherein  the  editor  has  achieved 
more  than  Virgil  himself,  when  he  turned  critic,  could  bonst 
of,  which  was  only,  that  he  hud  picked  gold  out  of  another 
man's  dung;  whereas  the  editor  has  picked  it  out  of  his 
own.  Scribl. 

Aristarchus  thinks  the  comnjon  reading  right:  and  that 
the  author  himself  had  been  struggling,  and  but  just  shaken 
off  his  load,  when  he  wrote  tho  following  epigram  : 

My  lord  complains,  that  Pope,  stark  mad  with  gardens, 

Has  lopp'd  three  trees,  the  value  of  three  farthings  : 

But  he's  my  neighbour,  cries  the  peer  polite, 

And  if  he  '11  visit  me,  I'll  wave  my  right. 

What!  on  compulsion?  and  against  my  will, 

A  lord's  acquaintance'!  Let  him  file  his  bill. 

Ver.  137,  138. 

Dunce  scorning  dunce  behold  the  next  advance, 
But  fop  shows  fop  superior  complaisance.] 
This  is  not  to  be  ascribed  so  much  to  the  different  manner! 
of  a  court  and  college,  as  to  the  different  effects  which  a 
pretence  to  learning  and  a  pretence  lo  wil,  have  on  block 
heads.  For  as  judgment  consists  in  finding  out  the  differ 
ences  in  things,  and  wit  in  finding  out  their  likenesses,  BO 
the  dunce  is  all  discord  and  dissension,  and  constantly  bu- 
eied  in  reproving,  examining,  confuting,  &c.  while  the  fop 
flourishes  in  peace,  with  songs  and  hymns  of  praise,  ad 
dresses,  characters,  epithalamiums,  &c. 

Ver.  140.  The  dreadful  wand ;]  A  cane  usually  borne 
by  schoolmasters,  which  drives  the  poor  souls  about  like  tho 
wand  of  Mercury.  Scribl. 

Ver.  151.     Like  the  Samian  letter.]    The  letter  Y  used 


THE  DUNCIAD.  279 

Placed  at  the  door  of  learning,  youth  to  guide, 

We  never  suffer  it  to  stand  too  wide. 

To  ask,  to  guess,  to  know,  as  they  commence, 

As  fancy  opens  the  quick  springs  of  sense, 

We  ply  the  memory,  we  load  the  brain, 

Bind  rebel  wit,  and  double  chain  on  chain, 

Confine  the  thought  to  exercise  the  breath ; 

And  keep  them  in  the  pale  of  words  till  death.      160 

Whate'er  the  talents,  or  howe'er  design'd, 

We  hang  one  jingling  padlock  on  the  mind : 

A  poet  the  first  day  he  dips  his  quill ; 

And  what  the  last  ?  a  very  poet  still. 

Pity  !  the  charm  works  only  in  our  wall, 

Lost,  lost  too  soon  in  yonder  house  or  hall. 

There  truant  Windham  every  muse  gave  o'er, 

There  Talbot  sunk,  and  was  a  wit  no  more ! 

How  sweet  an  Ovid,  Murray  was  our  boast ! 

How  many  Martials  were  in  Pulteney  lost !  170 

Else  sure  some  bard,  to  our  eternal  praise, 

In  twice  ten  thousand  rhyming  nights  and  days, 

Had  reach'd  the  work,  the  all  that  mortal  can ; 

And  South  beheld  that  master-piece  of  man. 

'  Oh,'  cried  the  goddess, '  for  some  pedant  reign ! 
Some  gentle  James,  to  bless  the  land  again ; 


by  Pythagoras,  as  an  emblem  of  the  different  roads  of  virtue 
and  vice. 

'  Et  tibi  quiE  Samios  diduxit  litera  ramos.' — Pers 

Ver.  174.  That  master-piece  of  man.]  Viz.  an  epigram. 
The  famous  Dr.  South  declared  a  perfect  epigram  to  be  n 
difficult  a  performance  as  an  epic  poem.  And  the  crit  cs 
say,  'An  epic  poem  is  the  greatest  work  human  nature  is 
capable  of.' 

Ver.  170.  Some  gentle  James,  &c.]  Wilson  tells  us  that 
this  king,  James  the  first,  took  upon  himself  to  teach  the 
La'.ni  tongue  to  Car,  earl  of  Somerset;  and  that  Gondomar, 
the  Spanish  ambassador,  would  speak  false  Latin  to  him 
on  purpose  to  give  him  the  pleasure  of  correcting  it,  whereby 
he  wrought  himself  into  his  good  graces. 

This  great  prince  was  the  first  who  assumed  the  title  of 
Sacred  Majesty,  which  his  loyal  clergy  transferred  front 


280          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

To  stick  the  doctor's  chair  into  the  throne, 
Give  law  to  words,  or  war  with  words  alone. 
Senates  and  courts  with  Greek  and  Latin  rule, 
And  turn  the  council  to  a  grammar-school !  180 

For  sure,  if  Dulness  sees  a  grateful  day, 
Tis  in  the  shade  of  arbitrary  sway. 

0  !  if  my  sons  may  learn  one  earthly  thing, 
Teach  but  that  one  sufficient  for  a  king ; 

That  which  my  priests,  and  mine  alone,  maintain, 
Which,  as  it  dies,  or  lives,  we  fall,  or  reign : 
May  you,  my  Cam,  and  Isis,  preach  it  long, 
"  The  right  divine  of  kings  to  govern  wrong.'' 
Prompt  at  the  call,  around  the  goddess  roll 
Broad  hats,  and  hoods,  and  caps,  a  sable  shoal:    19C 
Thick  and  more  thick  the  black  blockade  extends, 
A  hundred  head  of  Aristotle's  friends. 
Nor  wert  thou,  Isis  !  wanting  to  the  day, 
[Though  Christ-church  long  kept  prudishly  away.] 
Each  staunch  polemic,  stubborn  as  a  rock, 
Each  fierce  logician,  still  expelling  Locke, 
Came  whip  and  spur,  and  dash'd  through  thin  and 

thick 
On  German  Crouzaz,  and  Dutch  Burgersdyck. 

REMARKS. 

Gorl  to  him.  'Tho  principles  of  passive  obedience  and  non- 
resistance,'  says  the  nuthor  of  the  Dissertation  -on  Parties, 
Letter  8,  'which  before  his  time  had  skulked,  perhaps  in 
some  old  homily,  were  talked,  written,  and  preached  into 
vogue  in  that  inglorious  reign.' 

Ver.  194.  Though  Christ-church,  &c.]  This  line  !.-<  doubt 
less  spurious,  and  foisted  in  by  the  impertinence  of  the  edi 
tor;  and  accordingly  we  have  put  it  in  between  honks.  Fur 

1  »H':rm  this  college  came  as  early  as  any  other,  by  its  pro 
per  deputies;  nor  did  any  college  pay  homage  to  Dulni'ss  in 
its  wlioie  oo,.  .  Ben/I. 

Ver.  19(5.  Still  e.\|!<:...  Locke,]  In  the  year  1703  th<-re 
was  a  meeting  of  the  heads  o.  University  t)f  Oxford,  to 
censure  Mr.  Locke's  Essay  on  Human  nderstanding,  and 
to  forbid  the  reading  of  it.  See  his  Letters  in  tn«  edition. 

Ver.  198.  On  German  Crouzaz.  and  Dutch  Burgersuyc*. 

^here  seems  to  be  an  improbability  that  the  doctors  anrt 

eads  of  houses  should  ride  on  horseback,  who  of  Inte  davs, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  28J 

As  many  quit  the  streams  that  murrain  ing  fall 
To  lull  the  sons  of  Margaret  and  Clare-hall,          200 
Where  Bentley  late  tempestuous  wont  to  sport 
In  troubled  waters,  but  now  sleeps  in  port. 
Before  them  march'd  that  awful  Aristarch ; 
Plow'd  was  his  front  with  many  a  deep  remark : 
His  hat,  which  never  vail'd  to  human  pride, 
Walker  with  reverence  took,  and  laid  aside. 


being  gouty  or  unwieldy,  have  kept  their  coaches.  Bui 
these  are  horses  of  great  strength,  and  fit  to  carry  any 
weight,  as  their  German  and  Dutch  extraction  may  mani 
fest;  and  very  famous  we  may  conclude,  being  honoured 
with  names,  as  were  the  horses  Pegasus  and  Bucephalus. 

Scribl. 

Though  I  have  the  greatest  deference  to  the  penetration 
of  this  eminent  scholiast,  and  must  own  that  nothing  can  he 
more  natural  than  his  interpretation,  or  juster  than  that  rule 
of  criticism,  which  directs  us  to  keep  the  literal  sense,  when 
no  apparent  absurdity  accmnpanies  it  (and  sure  there  is  no 
absurdity  in  supposing  a  logician  on  horseback,)  vet  still  I 
must  needs  think  the  hackneys  here  celebrated  were  not  real 
horses,  nor  even  Centaurs,  which,  for  the  sake  of  the  learn 
ed  Chiron,  I  should  rather  be  inclined  to  think,  if  I  were 
forced  to  find  them  four  legs,  but  downright  plain  men, 
though  logicians;  and  only  thus  metamorphosed  by  a  rule 
of  rhetoric,  of  which  Cardinal  Perron  gives  us  iin  example, 
where  he  calls  Cliivius,  Un  esprit  pr.ita.iit.,  lourd,  sans  nub- 
tilite,  ni  gentilessr,  un  gros  ctieval  d'  .'illemuffne.' 

Here  I  profess  lo  go  opposite  to  (lie  whole  stream  of  com 
mentators.  I  think  the  poet  only  aimed,  (hough  awkwardly, 
at  an  elegant  Greecism  in  this  representation ;  for  in  that  lan 
guage  the  word  in-jra;  (horse)  was  often  prefixed  toothers, 
to  denote  greatness  of  strength;  as  i!rn-o\j!3r»5ai',  ITT^O- 
yx^o-o-oK,  i*-;ri>ic«p»$pov,  and  particularly  iJiliorNtiMiiN, 
a  great  connoisseur,  which  comes  nearest  to  the  case  in 
hand.  Scip.  Mnff. 

Ver.  190.  The  streams.]  The  river  Cam,  running  by  the 
walls  of  these  colleges,  which  are  particularly  famous  foi 
their  skill  in  disputation. 

Ver.  202.  Sleeps  in  port.]  Viz.  'Now  retired  into  bar 
bnur,  after  the  tempests  that  had  long  nuilated  his  society.' 
So  Scriblerus.  But  the  learned  Scipio  Maft'ei  understands  it 
of  a  certain  wine  called  Port,  from  Oporto,  a  city  of  Portu 
gal,  of  which  this  professor  invited  him  to  drink  abundantly 
Scip.  Mart.  I)e  Compotationibus  Academicis.  [And  to  tt« 

VOL.  II  19 


282          POPE'S  POETICAL  WO11KS. 

Low  bow  d  the  rest :  he,  kingly,  did  but  nod : 
So  upright  quakers  please  both  man  and  God. 
'  Mistress  !  dismiss  that  rabble  from  your  throne : 

A  vaunt is  Aristarchus  yet  unknown  ?  210 

The  mighty  scholiast,  whose  unwearied  pains 
Made  Horace  dull,  and  humbled  Milton's  strains. 
Turn  what  they  will  to  verse,  their  toil  is  vain, 
Critics  like  me  shall  make  it  prose  again. 
Roman  and  Greek  grammarians  !  know  your  better 
Author  of  something  yet  more  great  than  letter; 
'Vhile  towering  o'er  your  alphabet,  like  Saul, 
Stands  our  digamma,  and  o'ertops  them  all. 

REMARKS. 

pinion  of  Maffei  inclineth  the  sagacious  annotator  on  Dr. 
King's  advice  to  Horace.] 

Ver.  210.  Aristarchus.]  A  famous  commentator  and 
corrector  of  Homer,  whose  name  lias  been  frequently  used 
to  signify  a  complete  critic.  The  compliment  paid  by  our 
author  to  this  eminent  professor,  in  applying  to  him  so  great 
a  name,  was  the  reason  that  he  hath  omitted  to  comment  on 
this  part  which  contains  his  own  praises.  We  shall,  there 
fore,  supply  that  loss  to  our  best  ability.  Scribl. 

Ver.  214.  Critics  like  me — ]  Alluding  to  two  famous 
editions  of  Horace  and  Milton  ;  whose  richest  veins  of  poe 
try  he  had  prodigally  reduced  to  the  poorest  and  most  beg 
garly  prose. — Verily  the  learned  scholiast  is  grievously  mis 
taken.  Aristarchus  is  not  boasting  here  of  the  wonders  of 
his  art  in  annihilating  the  sublime;  but  of  the  usefulness  of 
it,  in  reducing  the  turgid  to  its  proper  class;  the  words 
'make  it  prose  again,'  plainly  showing  that  prose  it  was, 
though  ashamed  of  its  original,  and  therefore  to  prose  it 
should  return.  Indeed,  much  it  is  to  be  lamented  that  Dul- 
ness  doth  not  confine  her  critics  to  this  useful  task ;  and 
commission  them  to  dismount  what  Aristophanes  calls 
P>l/4x5'  i^-?ro5*juov»,  all  prose  on  horse-back.  Scriltl. 

Ver.  216.  Author  of  something  yet  more  great  thun  loi 
ter;]  Alluding  to  those  grammarians,  such  as  Palamedpu 
and  Simonides,  who  invented  single  letters.  But  Aristar- 
chtis,  who  hud  found  out  a  double  one,  was  therefore  wor 
thy  of  double  honour.  Scribl. 

Ver.  217,  218.  While  towering  o'er  your  alphabet,  like 
Saul — Stands  our  digamma,]  Alludes  to  the  boasted 
restoration  of  the  ^Eolic  digammn,  in  his  long  projected  edi 
lion  of  Homer.  Ho  calls  it  something  more  than  letter,  from 
the  enormous  figure  it  would  make  among  tho  other  letters, 
being  one  gamma,  set  upon  the  shoulders  of  another. 


THE  DLLNC1AD. 


283 


Tis  true,  on  words  is  still  our  whole  debate, 

Disputes  of  Me  or  Te,  of  Aut  or  At.  220 

To  sound  or  sink  in  cano  O  or  A, 

Or  give  up  Cicero  to  C  or  K. 

Let  Freind  affect  to  speak  as  Terence  spoke, 

And  Alsop  never  but  like  Horace  joke  : 

For  me,  what  Virgil,  Pliny  may  deny, 

Manillas  or  Solinus  shall  supply  : 

For  Attic  phrase  in  Plato  let  them  seek, 

I  poach  in  Suidas  for  unlicens'd  Greek. 

In  ancient  sense  if  any  needs  will  deal, 

Be  sure  I  give  them  fragments,  not  a  meal ;  230 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  220.  Of  Me  or  Te.]  It  was  a  serious  dispute,  about 
which  the  learned  were  much  divided,  and  some  treatises 
written  :  had  it  been  about  msu.ni  and  tuum  it  could  not  be 
more  contested,  than  whether  at  the  end  of  the  first  Ode  of 
Horace,  to  read,  Me  doctarum  hcdrrm  prtemia  frontium, 
or  Te  doctarum  Itcderte — By  this  lliuluariieil  scholiast  would 
seem  to  insinuate  that  the  dispute  wns  not  about  vieum  and 
tuum,  which  is  a  mistake:  for  as  a  venerable  sage  obsorv- 
eth,  words  are  the  counters  of  wise  men,  but  the  money  of 
fools;  so  lhat  we  see  their  property  was  indeed  concerned. 

iscribl. 

Ver.  222.  Or  give  up  Cicero  to  C  or  K.]  Grammatical 
disputes  about  the  manner  of  pronouncing  Cicero's  name  in 
Greek.  It  is  a  dispute  whether  in  Latin  the  name  of  Her 
magoras  should  end  in  as  or  a.  Qttiatiliui  quotes  Cicero  as 
writing  it,  Hermagora,  winch  Bentley  rejects,  and  says, 
Quintilian  must  be  mistaken,  Cicero  could  not  write  it  so, 
and  that  in  this  case  he  would  not  believe  Cicero  himself. 
These  are  his  very  words :  Ego  -ce.ro  Ciceroiiem  ita  scrip- 
tisse  ne  Ciceroni  quidem  offiriuanti  crediderim. — Epist.  a:l 
Mill,  infill.  Friii'.  Menand.  ct.  Phil. 

Ver.  223,  224.  Freind— Alsop.]  Dr.  Robert  Freind,  mas 
ter  of  Westminster-school,  and  canon  of  Christ-church — 
Dr.  Anthony  Alsop,  a  happy  imitator  of  the  Horatian  style. 

Ver.  226.  Maniiiua  or  Solinus.]  Some  critics  having 
had  it  in  their  choice  to  comment  either  on  Virgil  or  Mani- 
lius.  Pliny  or  Soiinus,  have  chosen  the  worse  author,  the 
more  freely  to  display  their  critical  capacity. 

Ver.  228,  &c.  Suidas,  Gellius,  BtobBM.1  The  first  a 
dictionary-writer,  a  collector  of  impertinent  facts  and  bar 
barous  words;  the  second  a  minute  critic;  the  third  an  au 
thor,  who  gave  his  common  place  book  to  the  public,  wher« 
we  happen  to  find  much  mince-meat  of  old  books. 


284          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

What  Gellius  or  Stobaeus  hash'd  before, 

Or  chew'd  by  blind  old  scholiasts  o'er  and  o'er, 

The  critic  eye,  that  microscope  of  wit, 

Sees  hairs  and  pores,  examines  bit  by  bit: 

How  parts  relate  to  parts,  or  they  to  whole, 

The  body's  harmony,  the  beaming  soul, 

Are  things  which  Kuster,  Burnham,  Wasse  shall  sea 

When  man's  whole  frame  is  obvious  to  a  flea. 

'  Ah  think  not,  mistress  !  more  true  dulness  lies 
In  folly's  cap,  than  wisdom's  grave  disguise.          2-11 
Like  buoys,  that  never  sink  into  the  flood, 
On  learning's  surface  we  but  lie  and  nod  : 
Thine  is  the  genuine  head  of  many  a  house, 
And  much  divinity  without  a  N:u;. 
Nor  could  a  Barrow  work  on  every  block, 
Nor  has  one  Atterbury  spoil'd  the  flock. 
See  !  still  thy  own,  the  heavy  canon  roll, 
And  metaphysic  smokes  involve  the  pole  ; 
For  these  we  dim  the  eyes,  and  stuff  the  head 
With  all  such  reading  as  was  never  read :  250 

For  thee  explain  a  thing  till  all  men  doubt  it, 
And  write  about  it,  goddess,  and  about  it : 
So  spins  the  silk-worm  small  its  slender  store, 
And  labours  till  it  clouds  itself  all  o'er. 
What  though  we  let  some  better  sort  of  fool 
Thrid  every  science,  run  through  every  school  ? 
Never  by  tumbler  through  the  hoops  was  shown 
Such  skill  in  passing  all,  and  touching  none. 
He  may  indeed  (if  sober  all  this  time) 
Plague  with  dispute,  or  persecute  with  rhyme.      2GC 
We  only  furnish  what  he  cannot  use, 
Or  wed  to  what  he  must  divorce,  a  muse  ; 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  245,  246.  Barrow,  AUerbnry.l  Isanc  Barrow,  mas 
ter  of  Trinity,  Francis  Atterbiiry,  dean  of  Christ  church, 
both  great  geniuses  nurl  eloquent  preachers;  one  morn  con 
versant  in  the  sublime  geometry,  the  other  in  classical  learn 
ing;  but  who  equally  made  it  their  care  lo  advance  the  po 
.ito  arts  in  their  sever  il  societies. 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


285 


Full  in  the  midst  of  Euclid  dip  at  once, 

And  petrify  a  genius  to  a  dunce  : 

Or,  set  on  metaphysic  ground  to  prance, 

Show  all  his  paces,  not  a  step  advance. 

With  the  same  cement,  ever  sure  to  bind, 

We  bring  to  one  dead  level  every  mind  ; 

Then  take  him  to  develope,  if  you  can, 

And  hew  the  block  off,  and  get  out  the  man.         270 

But  wherefore  waste  I  words  ?  I  see  advance 

Whore,  pupil,  and  lac'd  governor,  from  France. 

Walker  !  our  hat'  -  nor  more  he  deign'd  to  say 

But  stern  as  Ajax'  spectre  strode  away. 

In  flow'd  at  once  a  gay  embroider'd  race, 
And  titt'ring  push'd  the  pedants  off  the  place  : 
Some  would  have  spoken,  but  the  voice  was  drown'd 
By  the  French-horn  or  by  the  opening  hound. 
The  first  came  forward  with  an  easy  mien, 
As  if  he  saw  St.  James's  and  the  queen.  280 

When  thus  th'  attendant  orator  begun  : 
Receive,  great  empress  !  thy  accomplish'd  son  ; 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  27-2.  Laced  governor,]  Why  laced  ?  Because  gold 
ami  silver  are  necessary  trimming  to  denote  the  dress  of  a 
person  of  rank,  and  the  governor  must  be  supposed  so  in 
foreign  countries,  to  be  admitted  into  courts  and  oilier  places 
of  fair  reception.  JJnt  how  conies  Aristarchns  to  know  at 
sight  that  this  governor  camo  from  France  7  Know?  Why, 
By  the  laced  coat.  Scribl. 

Ibid.  Whore,  pupil,  and  laced  governor,]  Some  critici 
have  objected  to  the  order  here,  being  of  opinion  that  the 
governor  should  have  the  precedence  before  the  whore,  if 
not  before  the  pupil.  But  were  he  so  placed,  it  might  ba 
thought  to  insinuate  Unit  the  governor  led  the  pupil  to  the 
whore;  and  were  the  pupil  placed  first,  he  might  be  supposed 
to  lead  the  governor  to  her.  I!ut  our  impartial  poet,  as  ho 
la  drawing  their  picture,  represents  them  in  the  order  in 
which  they  are  generally  seen  ;  namely,  the  pupil  between 
the  whore  and  the  governor;  Imt  placeih  the  whore  first,  as 
ihe  usually  governs  both  the  other. 

Ver.  i!80.  As  if  he  saw  St.  James'?.]  Reflecting  or  the 
disrespectful  and  indecent  behaviour  of  several  forward 
young  persons  in  the  presence,  so  offensive  to  all  seiioul 
men,  and  to  none  more  than  the  good  Scriblerus. 

Ver.  281.     The  attendant  orator.]     Tho  governor  above 


286         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Thine  from  the  birth,  and  sacred  from  the  rod, 
A  dauntless  infant !  never  scar'd  with  God. 
The  sire  saw,  one  by  one,  his  virtues  wake ; 
The  mother  begg'd  the  blessing  of  a  rake. 
Thou  gav'st  that  ripeness,  which  so  soon  began, 
And  ceas'd  so  soon,  he  ne'er  was  boy  nor  man. 
Through  school  and  college,  thy  kind  clouds  o'ercast, 
Safe  and  unseen  the  young  /Eneas  past :  290 

Thence  bursting  glorious,  all  at  once  let  down, 
Stunn'd  with  his  giddy  larum  half  the  town. 
Intrepid  then,  o'er  seas  and  lands  he  flew  ; 
Europe  he  saw,  and  Europe  saw  him  too. 
There  all  thy  gifts  and  graces  we  display, 
Thou,  only  thou,  directing  ail  our  way  : 
To  where  the  Seine,  obsequious  as  she  runs, 
Pours  at  great  Bourbon's  feet  her  silken  sons  ; 
Or  Tyber,  now  no  longer  Roman,  rolls, 
Vain  of  Italian  arts,  Italian  souls  ;  300 

To  happy  convents,  bosom'd  deep  in  vines, 
Where  slumber  abbots,  purple  as  their  wines  : 
To  isles  of  fragrance,  lily-silver'd  vales, 
Diffusing  languor  in  the  panting  gales  : 
To  lands  of  singing,  or  of  dancing  slaves, 
Love-whispering  woods,  and  lute-resounding  waves , 

REMARKS. 

said.  The  poet  gives  liim  no  particular  name:  being  un 
willing,  I  presume,  to  offend  or  to  do  injustice  to  any,  by 
celebrating  one  only  with  whom  this  character  agrees,  ir 
preference  to  so  many  who  equally  deserve  it.  Scribl. 

Ver.  284.  A  dauntless  infant!  never  scared  with  God.' 
i.  e.  brought  up  in  the  enlarged  principles  of  modern  educa 
tion  ;  whose  great  point  is,  to  keep  the  infant  mind  free  from 
the  prejudices  of  opinion,  and  the  growing  spirit  unbroken 
by  terrifying  names.  Amongst  the  happy  consequences  of 
this  reformed  discipline,  it  is  not  the  least  that  we  have 
never  afterwards  any  occasion  for  the  priest,  whose  trade, 
as  a  modern  wit  informs  us,  is  only  to  finish  what  the  nurso 
began.  Scribl. 

Ver.  285.  The  blessing  of  a  rake.]  Scriblerus  is  here 
much  at  a  loss  to  find  out  what  this  blessing  should  be.  He 
is  sometimes  tempted  to  imagine  it  might  be  tha  mar- 


THE  DUNCIAD.  887 

But  chief  her  shrine  where  naked  Venus  keeps, 
And  Cupids  ride  the  lion  of  the  deeps  ; 
Where,  eased  of  fleets,  the  Adriatic  main 
Wafts  the  smooth  eunuch  and  enamour'd  swain.  310 
Led  by  my  hand,  he  saunter'd  Europe  round, 
And  gather'd  every  vice  on  Christian  ground; 
Saw  every  court,  heard  every  king  declare 
His  royal  sense  of  operas  or  the  fair ; 
The  stews  and  palace  equally  explored, 
Intrigued  with  glory,  and  with  spirit  whored ; 
Tried  all  h&rs  d'ceuvres,  all  liqueurs  defined, 
Judicious  drank,  and  greatly  daring  dined; 
Dropp'd  the  dull  lumber  of  the  Latin  ^tore, 
Spoil'd  his  own  language,  and  acquired  no  more ;  320 
All  classic  learning  lost  on  classic  ground ; 
And  last  turn'd  air,  the  echo  of  a  sound  ; 


rying  a  great  fortune:  but  this  again,  for  the  vulgarity  of  it, 
he  rejects,  as  something  uncommon  seemed  to  be  prayed 
for:  and  after  many  strange  conceits,  not  at  all  to  the  ho 
nour  of  the  fair  sex,  he  at  length  rests  in  this,  that  it  was, 
that  her  son  might  pass  for  a  wit:  in  which  opinion  he  for 
tifies  himself  by  ver.  310,  where  the  orator,  speaking  of  his 
pupil,  says  that  he 

Intrigued  with  glory,  and  with  spirit  whored, 
which  seems  to  insinuate  that  her  prayer  was  heard.  Here 
the  good  scholiast,  us,  indeed,  every  where  else,  lays  open 
the  very  soul  of  modern  criticism,  while  he  makes  his  own 
ignorance  of  a  poetical  expression  hold  open  the  door  to 
much  erudition  and  learned  conjecture:  the  blessing  of  a 
rake  signifying  no  more  than  that  he  might  be  a  rake;  the 
effects  of  a  thing  for  the  thing  itself,  a  common  figure.  The 
careful  mother  only  wished  her  son  might  be  a  rake,  as  wel. 
knowing  that  its  attendant  blessings  would  follow  of  course. 

Ver.  307.  But  chief,  &c.]  These  two  lines,  in  their  force 
of  imagery  and  colouring,  emulate  and  equal  the  pencil  of 
Rubens. 

Ver.  308.  And  Cupids  ride  the  lion  of  the  deeps  ;]  The 
winged  lion,  the  arms  of  Venice.  This  republic,  heretofore 
the  most  considerable  in  Europe,  for  her  naval  force  and  the 
extent  of  her  commerce  ;  now  illustrious  for  her  carnivals. 

Ver.  318.  Greatly  daring  dined  :]  It  being,  indeed,  no 
small  risk  to  eat  through  those  extraordinary  composi 
tions,  whose  disguised  ingredients  are  generally  unknown  to 
the  guests,  and  highly  inflammatory  and  urfwholesome. 


283          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

See  now,  half-cured,  and  perfectly  well-bred, 

With  nothing  but  a  solo  in  his  head  ; 

As  much  estate,  and  principle,  and  wit, 

As  Jansen,  Fleetwood,  Gibber  shall  think  fit ; 

Stolen  from  a  duel,  follow'd  by  a  nun, 

And  if  a  borough  choose  him,  not  undone 

See,  to  my  country  happy  I  restore 

This  glorious  youth,  and  add  one  Venus  more.      330 

Her  too  receive  (for  her  my  soul  adores,) 

So  may  the  sons  of  sons  of  sons  of  whores 

Prop  thine,  O  empress  !  like  each  neighbour  throne, 

And  make  a  long  posterity  thy  own.' 

Pleased,  she  accepts  the  hero  and  the  dame, 
Wraps  in  her  veil,  arid  frees  from  sense  of  shame. 
Then  look'd,  and  saw  a  lazy,  lolling  sort, 
Unseen  at  church,  at  senate,  or  at  court, 
Of  ever-listless  loiterers,  that  attend 
No  cause,  no  trust,  no  duty,  and  no  friend.  340 

Thee  too,  my  Paridel !  she  mark'd  thee  there, 
Stretch'd  on  the  rack  of  a  too  easy  chair, 


REMARKS. 

Ver.  324.  Witii  nothing  but  a  solo  in  his  head  ;]  With 
nothing  but  a  solo?  Why,  if  it.  be  a  solo,  how  should  there 
be  any  thing  elsv  1  Palpable  tautology !  Read  boldly  an 
opera,  which  is  enough  of  conscience  for  such  a  head  as  has 
lost  all  its  Latin.  Bentl. 

Ver.  326.  Jansen,  Fleetwood,  Gibber.]  Threts  very  emi 
nent  persons,  all  managers  of  plays :  who,  though  not  go 
vernors  by  profession,  had,  each  in  his  way, concerned  them 
selves  in  the  education  of  youth  ;  and  regulated  their  wits, 
their  morals,  or  their  finances,  at  that  period  of  their  ago 
which  is  the  most  important,  their  entrance  into  the  polite 
world.  Of  the  last  of  these,  and  his  talents  for  this  end,  see 
Book  i.  ver.  109,  &c. 

Ver.  331.  Her  too  receive,  &c.]  This  confirms  what  the 
learned  Scriblerus  advanced  in  his  note  on  ver.  272,  that  the 
governor,  ns  well  as  the  pupil,  had  a  particular  interest  in 
this  lady. 

Ver.  341.  Thee  too,  my  Paridel!]  The  poet  seems  to 
speak  of  this  young  sc.ntlcman  with  great  affection.  The 
name  is  taken  from  Spenser,  who  gives  it  to  a  wandering 
eourtly  'squire,  that  travelled  about  for  the  same  reason  for 
which  many  young  'squires  are  now  fond  of  travelling,  and 
especially  to  Paris. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  289 

And  heard  thy  everlasting  yawn  confess 
The  pams  and  penalties  of  idleness. 
She  pitied  !  but  her  pity  only  shed 
Benigner  influence  on  thy  nodding  head. 

But  Annius,  crafty  seer,  with  ebon  wand, 
And  well-dissembled  emerald  on  his  hand, 
False  as  his  gems,  and  canker'd  as  his  coins, 
^ame,  cramm'd  with  capon,  from  where  Pollio  dines. 
Soft  as  the  wily  fox  is  seen  to  creep,  351 

Where  bask  on  sunny  banks  the  simple  sheep, 
Walk  round  and  round,  now  prying  here,  now  there, 
So  he;  but  pious,  whisper'd  first  his  prayer: 

'  Grant,  gracious  goddess  !  grant  me  still  to  cheat , 
O  may  thy  cloud  still  cover  the  deceit ! 
Thy  choicer  mists  on  this  assembly  shed, 
But  pour  them  thickest  on  the  noble  head. 
So  shall  each  youth,  assisted  by  our  eyes, 
See  other  Caisars,  other  Homers  rise ;  860 

Through  twilight  ages  hunt  the  Athenian  fowl, 
Which  Chalcis  gods,  and  mortals  call  an  owl : 
Now  see  an  Attys,  now  a  Cecrops  clear, 
Nay,  Mahomet !  the  pigeon  at  thine  ear : 
Be  rich  in  ancient  brass,  though  not  in  gold, 
And  keep  his  Lares,  though  his  house  be  sold  ; 
To  headless  Phoebe  his  fair  bride  postpone, 
Honour  a  Syrian  prince  above  his  own  ; 
Lord  of  an  Otho,  if  I  vouch  it  true  ; 
Blcss'd  in  one  Niger,  till  he  knows  of  two.'          370 

REMARKS. 

Vur.  347.  Annius,]  The  name  taken  from  Annius  the 
rntmk  of  Viterbo,  famous  for  many  impositions  and  forgeries 
of  ancient  manuscripts  and  inscriptions,  which  he  was 
prompted  to  by  mere  vanity:  but  our  Annius  had  a  more 
Bubstantial  motive. 

Ver.  363.  Attys  and  Cecrops.]  The  first  king  of  Athens', 
of  whom  it  is  hard  to  suppose  any  coins  are  extant;  but  not 
10  improbable  as  wnat  follows,  that  tbere  should  be  any  of 
Mahomet,  who  forbade  all  images;  and  the  story  of  whose 
pigeon  was  a  monkish  fable.  Nevertheless,  one  of  these 
Anniuses  made  a  counterfeit  medal  of  that  impostor,  now 
>n  the  collection  of  a  learned  nobleman. 


290          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Mummius  o'erheard  him ;  Mummius,  fool-renown'd 
Who  like  his  Cheops  stinks  above  the  ground, 
Fierce  as  a  startled  adder,  swell'd  and  said, 
Rattling  an  ancient  sistrum  at  his  head : 

'  Speak'st  thou  of  Syrian  princes  ?  Traitor  base! 
Mine,  goddess!  mine  is  all  the  horned  race. 
True,  he  had  wit,  to  make  their  value  rise  : 
From  foolish  Greeks  to  steal  them,  was  as  wise ; 
More  glorious  yet,  from  barbarous  hands  to  keep, 
When  Sallee  rovers  chased  him  on  the  deep.         380 
Then  taught  by  Hermes,  and  divinely  bold, 
Down  his  own  throat  he  risk'd  the  Grecian  gold. 
Received  each  demi-god,  with  pious  care, 
Deep  in  his  entrails — I  revered  them  there  ; 
I  bought  them,  shrouded  in  that  living  shrine, 
And,  at  their  second  birth,  they  issue  mine  ' 


REMARKS. 

Vcr.  371.  Mummius.]  This  name  is  not  merely  an  allu 
sion  to  the  Mummius  he  was  so  fond  of,  but  probably  refer 
red  to  ihe  Roman  general  of  that  name,  who  burned  Co 
rinth,  and  committed  the  curious  statues  to  the  captain  of  a 
ship,  assuring  him,  'that  if  they  were  lost  or  broken,  ha 
should  procure  others  to  be  made  in  their  stead;*  by  which 
it  should  seem  (whatever  may  be  pretended)  thai  Mummtus 
was  no  virtuoso. 

Ibid.  Fool-reriown'd,J  A  compound  rpithel  in  the  Greek 
mnnner,  renowned  by  fools,  or  renowned  for  making  fools. 

Ver.  37'2.  Cheops.]  A  king  of  Egypt  whose  body  was 
certainly  lobe  known,  as  beiug  hurled  Hlon'i:  in  his  pyramid, 
nnd  is  therefore  more  genuine  than  any  of  llie  Cleopatras. 
This  royal  mummy,  being  stolen  by  a  wild  Arab,  was  pur 
chased  by  ibe  consul  of  Alexandria,  and  transmitted  lo  the 
museum  of  Mummius  ;  for  proof  of  which  he  brings  a  pan- 
sage  in  Sandy's  Travels,  where  that  accurate  nnd  learned 
voyager  assures  us  that  he  saw  the  sepulchre  empty,  which 
ggrees  exactly,  saith  he,  with  the  lime  of  the  thefl  above- 
mentioned.  But  he  omits  to  observe  that  Herodotus  tells 
the  samr*  tiling  of  it  in  his  time. 

Ver.  375.  Speak'st  thou  of  Syrian  princes?  &c.]  The 
strange  story  following,  which  may  bo  taken  for  a  fiction  of" 
the  poet,  is  justified  by  a  true  relation  in  Sjion's  Voyages. 
Vaillant  (who  wrote  the  History  of  the  Syrian  kings  as  it  if 
lo  be  (bund  on  medals)  coming  from  the  Levant,  where  he 
bad  been  collecting  various  coins,  and  being  pursued  by  a 


THE  DUNCIAD. 


291 


1  Witness,  great  Ammon !  by  whose  horns  I  swore,' 
Replied  soft  Annius, '  this  our  paunch  before 
Still  bears  them  faithful;  and  that  thus  I  eat, 
Is  to  refund  the  medals  with  the  meat.  300 

To  prove  me,  goddess  !  clear  of  all  design, 
Bid  me  with  Pollio  sup,  as  well  as  dine  : 
There  all  the  learn'd  shall  at  the  labour  stand, 
And  Douglas  lend  his  soft,  obstetric  hand.' 

The  goddess, smiling,  seem'd  to  give  consent; 
So  back  to  Pollio,  hand  in  hand  they  went. 

Then  thick  as  locusts  blackening  all  the  ground, 
A  tribe  with  weeds  and  shells  fantastic  crown'd, 
Each  with  some  wondrous  gift  approach'd  the  power, 
A  nest,  a  toad,  a  fungus,  or  a  rlower.  400 

But  far  the  foremost,  two,  with  earnest  zeal, 
And  aspect  ardent,  to  the  throne  appeal. 

The  first  thus  open'd  :  '  Hear  thy  suppliant's  call, 
Great  queen,  and  common  mother  of  us  all ! 
Fair  from  its  humble  bed  I  rear'd  this  flower, 
Suckled,  and  cheer'd,  with  air,  and  sun,  and  shower 

REMARKS. 

corsair  of  Sallee,  swallowed  down  twenty  gold  medals.  A 
iiidilen  bomsque  freed  him  from  the  rover,  and  he  got  to 
land  with  (hum  in  hi*  belly.  On  Ms  road  to  Avignon  ho 
met  two  physicians,  of  whom  he  demanded  assistance.  One 
advised  purgations,  the  other  vomits,  [n  this  uncertainly 
he  look  neither,  hut  pursued  his  way  to  Lyons,  where  lie 
found  his  ancient  friend  the  famous  physician  and  aningu'iry 
Llufour,  to  whom  he  related  his  adventure.  Dufour,  with 
out  staying  to  inquire  about  the  uneasy  symptoms  of  the 
burthen  he  carried,  first  aski'd  him,  whether  the  mrdali 
were  of  the  higher  empire?  He  assured  him  they  were. 
Du'bur  was  ravished  «iih  thn  hope  of  po-sessin™  so  rare  a 
treasure;  he  bargained  vviih  him  on  the  spnt  for  thn  most 
curious  of  iliem,  and  WHS  to  recover  them  at  his  own  expense 

Ver.  H87.  Witness  great  Ammon!]  Jupiter  Ammon  is 
called  to  witness,  MS  the  father  nt  Alexander,  to  whom  those 
kin^s  succeeded  in  the  divlsioc  of  the  Macedonian  empire, 
and  whose  hums  they  wore  on  their  medals. 

Ver.  3'J4.  Douglas.]  A  physician  of  great  learning  and 
no  less  taste;  above  all,  curious  in  what  related  to  Horace, 
of  whom  be  collected  every  edition,  translation,  and  com- 
tient,  to  the  number  of  several  hundred  volumes. 


292 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Soft  on  the  paper  ruff  its  leaves  I  spread, 
Bright  with  the  gilded  button  tipp'd  his  head ; 
Then  throned  in  glass  and  named  it  Caroline  : 
Each  maid  cried,  Charming!  and  each  youth,  Divine. 
Did  nature's  pencil  ever  blend  such  rays,  41f 

Such  varied  light  in  one  promiscuous  blaze? 
Now  prostrate  !  dead  !  behold  that  Caroline  : 
No  maid  cries,  Charming  !  and  no  youth,  Divine ! 
And  lo  the  wretch  !  whose  vile,  whose  insect  lust 
Laid  this  gay  daughter  of  the  spring  in  dust. 
Oh  punish  him,  or  to  the  Elysian  shades 
Dismiss  my  soul,  where  no  carnation  fades  !' 

He  ceased,  and  wept.     With  innocence  of  mien, 
The  accused  stood  forth,  and  thus  address'd  the  queen: 

'  Of  all  the  enamell'd  race,  whose  silvery  wing  421 
Waves  to  the  tepid  zephyrs  of  the  spring, 
Or  swims  along  the  fluid  atmosphere, 
Once  brightest  shined  this  child  of  heat  and  air. 
I  saw,  and  started  from  its  vernal  bower 
The  rising  game,  and  chased  from  flower  tc  flower. 
It  fled,  1  follow'd  ;  now  in  hope,  now  pain  ; 
It  stopp'd,  I  stopp'd ;  it  moved,  I  moved  again. 
At  last  it  fix'd,  'twas  on  what  plant  it  pleased, 
And  where  it  fix'd,  the  beauteous  bird  I  seized  ;    430 
Rose  or  carnation  was  below  my  care  ; 
I  meddle,  goddess  !  only  in  my  sphere. 
I  tell  the  naked  fact  without  disguise, 
And  to  excuse  it,  need  but  show  the  prize ; 
Whose  spoils  this  paper  offers  to  your  eye, 
Fair  e'en  in  death  !  this  peerless  butterfly.' 


REMARKS. 

Ver.  409.  And  named  it  Caroline:]  It  is  a  compliment 
which  ths  florists  usually  pay  to  princes  and  great  persons, 
to  give  their  names  to  the  most  curious  flowers  of  their 
raising:  some  have  been  very  jealous  of  vindicating  this  ho- 
aour,  but  none  more  than  that  ambitious  gardener  at  Ham 
mersmith,  who  caused  his  favourite  to  be  painted  on  his 
tijfn,  with  this  inscription :  This  is  my  Queen  Caroline. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  293 

'My  sons  !'  she  answer'd,  'both  have  done  your 

parts  : 

Live  happy  both,  and  long  promote  our  arts. 
But  hear  a  mother,  when  she  recommends 
To  your  fraternal  care  our  sleeping  friends.  440 

The  common  soul,  of  Heaven's  more  frugal  make, 
Serves  but  to  keep  fools  pert  and  knaves  awake ; 
A  drowsy  watchman,  that  just  gives  a  knock, 
And  breaks  our  rest  to  tell  us  what's  a  clock. 
Yet  by  some  object  every  brain  is  stirr'd ; 
The  dull  may  waken  to  a  humming-bird  ; 
The  most  recluse,  discreetly  open'd,  find 
Congenial  matter  in  the  cookie  kind  ; 
The  mind  in  metaphysics  at  a  loss, 
May  wander  in  a  wilderness  of  moss  ;  450 

The  head  that  turns  at  superlunar  things, 
Poised  with  a  tail,  may  steer  on  Wilkins'  wings. 

'  O  !  would  the  sons  of  men  once  think  their  eyes, 
And  reason  given  them  but  to  study  flies  ! 
See  nature  in  some  partial  narrow  shape, 
And  let  the  author  of  the  whole  escape  ; 
Learn  but  to  trifle  ;  or,  who  most  observe, 
To  wonder  at  their  Maker,  not  to  serve.' 

'  Be  that  my  task,'  replies  a  gloomy  clerk, 
Sworn  foe  to  mystery,  yet  divinely  dark  ;  460 

Whose  pious  hope  aspires  to  see  the  day 
When  moral  evidence  shall  quite  decay, 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  452.  Wilkins'  wings.]  One  of  the  first  projectors 
of  the  Royal  Society,  who,  nmong  many  enlarged  and  use 
ful  notions,  entertained  the  extravagant  hope  of  a  possibility 
to  fly  to  the  moon  ;  which  has  put  some  volatile  geniuses 
upon  making  wings  for  that  purpose. 

Ver.  46i.  When  moral  evidence  shall  quite  decay.] 
Alluding  to  a  ridiculous  and  absurd  way  of  Borne  mathema 
ticians,  in  calculating  the  gradual  decay  of  moral  evidence 
by  mathematical  proportions  :  according  to  which  calcula« 
lion,  in  about  fifty  years  it  will  be  no  longer  probable  that 
Julius  Caesar  was  in  Gnul,  or  died  in  the  senate-house.  Sei 
Craig's  Theologize  Christiana!  Principia  Mathematics.  But, 


294          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  damns  implicit  faith,  and  holy  lies, 

Prompt  to  impoae,  and  fond  to  dogmatize  : 

'  Let  others  creep  by  timid  steps  and  slow, 

On  plain  experience  lay  foundations  low, 

By  common  sense  to  common  knowledge  bred, 

And  last,  to  nature's  Cause  through  nature  led. 

All-seeing  in  thy  mists,  we  want  no  guide, 

Mother  of  arrogance,  and  source  of  pride!  47( 

We  nobly  take  the  high  priori  road, 

And  reason  downward  till  we  doubt  of  God  ; 

Make  nature  still  encroach  upon  his  plan, 

And  shove  him  off  as  far  as  e'er  we  can : 

Thrust  some  mechanic  cause  into  his  place, 

Or  bind  in  matter,  or  diffuse  in  space. 

Or,  at  one  bound,  o'erleaping  all  his  laws, 

Make  God  man's  image,  man  the  final  cause ; 

Find  virtue  local,  all  relation  scorn, 

See  all  in  self,  and  but  for  self  be  born :  480 

Of  nought  so  certain  as  our  reason  still, 

Of  nought  so  doubtful  as  of  soul  and  will. 

Oh  hide  the  God  still  more  !  and  make  us  see 

Such  as  Lucretius  drew,  a  god  like  thee  : 

Wrapp'd  up  in  self,  a  god  without  a  thought, 

Regardless  of  our  merit  or  default. 

Or  that  bright  image  to  our  fancy  draw, 

Which  Theocles  in  raptured  visions  saw, 

Wild  through  poetic  scenes  the  genius  roves, 

Or  wanders  wild  in  academic  groves  ;  490 

That  nature  our  society  adores, 

Where  Tindal  dictates,  and  Silenus  snores  ' 

REMARKS 

as  it  seems  evident,  lhat  facts  of  a  thousand  years  old,  for 
instance,  are  now  as  probable  as  they  were  five  hundred 
years  ago ;  it  is  plain,  that  if  in  fifty  more  they  quite  disap 
pear,  it  must  be  owm«,  not  to  tlieir  arguments,  hut  to  tha 
extraordinary  power  of  our  goddess;  for  whose  help,  there 
fore,  they  have  reason  to  pray. 

Vm   492.     Where  Tindal   dictates,  nnd  Silenua  snores.] 
It  cannot  be  denied  but  that  this  fine  stroke  of  satire  against 


THE  DUNCIAD.  295 

Roused  at  his  name  up  rose  the  bowzy  sire, 
And  shook  from  out  his  pipe  the  seeds  of  fire ; 
Then  snapp'd  his  box,  and  stroked  his  belly  down, 
Rosy  and  reverend,  though  without  a  gown. 
Bland  and  familiar  to  the  throne  he  came, 
Led  up  the  youth,  and  call'd  the  goddess  dame. 
Then  thus  :  '  From  priestcraft  happily  set  free, 
Lo  !  every  finish'd  son  returns  to  thee  :  500 

First,  slave  to  words,  then,  vassal  to  a  name, 
Then,  dupe  to  party  ;  child  and  man  the  same  ; 

REMARKS. 

atheism  was  well  intended.  But  how  must  the  reader  smile 
at  our  author's  officious  zeal,  when  he  is  told,  that  at  the 
time  this  was  written,  you  might  as  soon  have  found  a  wolf 
in  England  as  an  atheist  ?  The  truth  is,  the  whole  species 
was  exterminated.  There  is  a  trifling  difference,  indeed, 
concerning  the  author  of  the  achievement.  Some,  as  Dr. 
Ashenhurst,  gave  it  to  Bentley's  Boylean  Lectures.  And 
he  so  well  convinced  that  great  man  of  the  truth,  that 
wherever  afterwards  he  found  atheist,  he  always  read  it 
A  theist.  But,  in  spite  of  a  claim  so  well  made  out,  others 
gave  the  honour  of  this  exploit  to  a  later  Boylean  lecturer. 
A  judicious  apologist  for  Dr.  Clarke  against  Mr.  Whiston, 
says,  with  no  less  elegance  than  positiveness  of  expression, 
It  is  a  most  certain  truth,  that  the  Demonstration  of  the 
Being  and  Attributes  of  God,  has  extirpated  and  banished 
atheism  out  of  the  Christian  world,'  p.  18.  It  is  much  to  be 
lamented,  that  the  clearest  truths  have  still  their  dark  side. 
Here  we  see  it  becomes  a  doubt  which  of  the  two  Hercules' 
was  the  monster-queller.  But  what  of  that?  Since  the 
thing  is  done,  and  the  proof  of  it  so  certain,  there  is  no  oc 
casion  for  so  nice  a  canvassing  of  circumstances.  Scribl. 

Ver.  492.  Silenus.]  Silcnus  was  an  Epicurean  philoso 
pher,  as  appears  from  Virgil,  Eclog.  vi.  where  he  sings  the 
principles  of  that  philosophy  in  his  drink.* 

Ver.  501.  First  slave  to  words,  &c.]  A  recapitulation 
of  the  whole  course  of  modern  education  described  in  this 
book,  which  confines  youth  to  the  study  of  words  only  in 
schools;  subjects  them  to  the  authority  of  systems  in  the 
universities;  and  deludes  them  with  the  names  of  party  dis 
tinctions  in  the  world;  dll  equally  concurring  to  narrow  the 
understanding,  and  establish  slavery  and  error  in  literature, 
philosophy,  and  politics.  The  whole  finished  in  modern 
free-thinking:  the  completion  of  whatever  is  vain,  wrong 
and  destructive  to  the  happiness  of  mankind;  as  it  esta 
blishes  self-lovo  for  the  sole  principle  of  action. 


296  POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Bounded  by  nature,  narrow'd  still  by  art, 

A  trifling  head,  and  a  contracted  heart. 

Thus  bred,  thus  taught,  how  many  have  I  seen, 

Smiling  on  all,  and  smiled  on  by  a  queen  ! 

Mark'd  out  for  honours,  honour'd  for  their  birth 

To  thee  the  most  rebellious  things  on  earth  : 

Now  to  thy  gentle  shadow  all  are  shrunk, 

All  melted  down  in  pension,  or  in  punk  !  510 

So  K*,  so  B**,  sneak'd  into  the  grave, 

A  monarch's  half,  and  half  a  harlot's  slave. 

Poor  W**,  nipp'd  in  folly's  broadest  bloom, 

Who  praises  now  ?  his  chaplain  on  his  tomb. 

Then  take  them  all,  oh  take  them  to  thy  breast, 

Thy  Magus,  goddess !  shall  perform  the  rest.' 

With  that,  a  wizard  old  his  cup  extends ; 
Which  whoso  tastes,  forgets  his  former  friends. 
Sire,  ancestors,  himself.     One  casts  his  eyes 
Up  to  a  star,  and  like  Endymion  dies :  520 

A  feather,  shooting  from  another's  head, 
Extracts  his  brain  ;  and  principle  is  fled  ; 
Lost  is  his  God,  his  country,  every  thing ; 
And  nothing  left  but  homage  to  a  king ! 


REMARKS. 

Ver.  506.  Smiled  on  by  a  queen  !]  i.  e.  This  queen  or 
goddess  of  Dulness. 

Ver.  517.  With  that,  a  wizard  old,  &c.]  Here  bcginneth 
the  celebration  of  the  greater  mysteries  of  the  goddess,  which 
tlie  poet,  in  his  invocation,  ver.  5,  promised  to  sing. 

Ver.  518.  — forgets  his  former  friends.]  Surely  there 
little  needed  theforce  of  charms  or  magic  to  set  aside  a  use 
less  friendship.  For  of  all  the  accommodations  of  fashiona 
ble  life,  as  there  are  none  more  reputable,  so  there  are  none 
of  so  little  charge  as  friendship.  It  fills  up  the  void  of  lifo 
with  a  name  of  dignity  and  respect:  and  at  the  same  time 
is  ready  to  give  place  to  every  passion  that  offers  to  dispute 
possession  with  it.  Scrikl. 

Ver.  523,  524.  Lost  is  his  God,  his  country — and  nothing 
loft  but  hotnnge  to  a  king !]  So  strange  as  this  must  seem  to 
a  mere  English  reader,  the  famous  Mons.  dc  la  Bruyere  de 
clares  it  to  be  the  character  of  every  good  subject  in  n  mo 
narchy  :  '  Where,'  says  he,  '  lliero  is  no  snoli  thin?  as  lovi 


THE  DUNCIAD.  297 

The  vulgar  nerd  turn  off  to  roll  with  hogs, 
To  run  with  horses,  or  to  hunt  with  dogs  ; 
But,  sad  example  !  never  to  escape 
Their  infamy,  still  keep  the  human  shape. 

But  she,  good  goddess,  sent  to  every  child 
Firm  impudence,  or  stupefaction  mild  ;  530 

And  straight  succeeded,  leaving  shade  no  room, 
Cibberian  forehead,  or  Cimmerian  gloom. 

Kind  self-conceit  to  some  her  glass  applies, 
Which  no  one  looks  in  with  another's  eyes  ; 
But,  as  the  flatterer  or  dependant  paint, 
Beholds  himself  a  patriot,  chief,  or  saint. 
On  others,  interest  her  gay  livery  flings, 
Interest,  that  waves  on  party-colour'd  wings : 


of  our  country,  the  interest,  the  glory,  and  service  of  the 
prince,  supply  its  place.'  De  la  Republique,  chap.  x. 

Of  this  duty  another  celebrated  French  author  speaks  in 
deed  a  little  more  disrespectfully  ;  which  for  that  reason  we 
shall  not  translate,  but  give  in  his  own  words:  'L'amour  de 
la  patrie,  le  grand  motif  des  premiers  heros,  n'cst  plus  re- 
gard6  que  comme  une  chimere;  1'idee  du  service  du  roi 
etendue  jusqu'a  1'oubli  de  tout  autre  principe,  tient  lieu  de 
ce  qu'on  appelloit  autrefbis  grandeur  d'anie  ct  fidelite.' — 
Boulainvilliers  Hist,  des  Anciens  Parlements  de  France,  &,c 

Ver.  528.  Still  keep  the  human  shape.]  The  effects  of 
the  Magus's  cup,  by  which  is  allegorized  a  tolal  corruption 
of  heart,  are  just  contrary  to  that  of  Circe,  which  only  repre 
sents  the  sudden  plunging  into  pleasures.  Hers,  therefore, 
took  away  the  shape,  and  left  the  human  mind;  his  takes 
away  the  mind,  and  leaves  the  human  shape. 

Ver.  529.  But  she,  good  goddess,  &c.]  The  only  com- 
*brt  people  can  receive,  must  be  owing  in  some  shape  or 
other  to  Dulness ;  which  makes  some  stupid,  others  impu 
dent,  gives  self-conceit  to  sume,  upon  the  flatteries  of  their 
dependants,  presents  the  false  colours  of  interest  to  others, 
and  busies,  or  amuses  the  rest  with  idle  pleasures  or  sen 
suality,  till  they  become  easy  under  any  infamy.  Each  of 
which  species  is  here  shadowed  undei1  allegorical  persons. 

Ver.  532.  Cibberian  forehead,  or  Cimmerian  gloom.]  i.  o. 
she  communicates  to  them  of  her  own  virtue,  or  of  her  royal 
colleagues.  The  Cibberian  forehead  being  to  fit  them  for 
§elf-concoit,  self-interest,  &c.  and  the  Cimmerian  gloom,  for 
the  pleasures  of  opera  and  the  table.  Scribl 

VOL.  H.  20 


298          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Turn'd  to  the  sun,  she  casts  a  thousand  dyes, 

And,  as  she  turns,  the  colours  fall  or  rise.  5*4 

Others  the  syren  sisters  warble  round, 
And  empty  heads  console  with  empty  sound. 
No  more,  alas  !  the  voice  of  fame  they  hear, 
The  balm  of  Dulness  trickling  in  their  ear. 
Great  C**,  II**,  P**,  R**,  K*, 
Why  all  your  toils  ?  your  sons  have  learn' d  to  "ung. 
How  quick  ambition  hastes  to  ridicule  ! 
The  sire  is  made  a  peer,  the  son  a  fool. 

On  some,  a  priest  succinct  in  amice  white 
Attends  ;  all  flesh  is  nothing  in  his  sight !  550 

Beeves,  at  his  touch,  at  once  to  jelly  turn, 
And  the  huge  boar  is  shrunk  into  an  urn  : 
The  board  with  specious  miracles  he  loads, 
Turns  hares  to  larks,  and  pigeons  into  toads. 
Another  (for  in  all  what  one  can  shine  ?) 
Explains  the  seve  and  verdeur  of  the  vine. 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  553.  The  board  wjtli  specious  miracles  lie  loads, 
&c.]  Scriblerus  seems  at  a  loss  in  this  place.  Xpeciosa 
mirnciila  (says  lie)  according  to  Horace,  were  the  mon 
strous  tables  of' the  Cyclops,  Ltcstrygons,  Scyllu,  &c.  What 
relation  have  these  to  the  transformation  of  liares  into  larks, 
or  of  pigeons  into  toads?  I  shall  tell  thee.  The  La;stry- 
gons  spilled  men  upon  spears  as  we  do  lurks  upon  skewers; 
and  the  fair  pigeon  turned  to  a  toad,  is  similar  to  the  fair 
virgin  Scyila  ending  in  a  filthy  beast.  But  here  is  Iho  diffi 
culty,  why  pigeons  in  so  shocking  a  slinpe  should  be  brought 
to  a  table.  Hares,  indeed,  might  be  cut  into  larks,  at  a  se 
cond  dressing,  out  of  frugality  :  yet  that  seems  no  probable 
motive,  when  we  consider  the  extravagance  before  men 
tioned,  of  dissolving  whole  oxen  and  hoars  into  a  small  vial 
of  jelly  ;  nay,  it  is  expressly  said,  thai  all  flesh  is  nothing  in 
his  sight.  I  have  searched  in  Appicus,  Pliny,  and  the  feast 
of  Trimalchio,  in  vain  ;  I  can  only  resolve  it  into  some  mys 
terious  superstitious  rile,  as  it  is  said  to  be  done  by  a  priest, 
and  soon  after  called  a  sacrifice,  attended  (as  all  ancient 
sacrifices  were)  with  libation  and  song.  Scribl. 

This  good  scholiast,  not  being  acquainted  with  modern 
luxury,  was  ignorant  that  these  were  only  the  miracles  of 
French  cookery,  and  that  particularly  pigeons  en  crapeau 
were  a  common  dish. 

Ver.  556.  Seve  and  verdeur]  French  terms  re'ating  to 
wines,  which  signify  their  flavour  and  poignancy. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  299 

What  cannot  copious  sacrifice  atone.' 
Thy  truffles,  Perigord  !  thy  hams,  Bayonne  ! 
With  French  libation ,  and  Italian  strain, 
Wash  Bladen  white,  and  expiate  Hay's  stain.        560 
Knight  lifts  the  head :  for  what  are  crowds  undone, 
To  three  essential  partridges  in  one  ? 
Gone  every  blush,  and  silent  all  reproach, 
Contending  princes  mount  them  in  their  coach. 
Next,  bidding  all  draw  near  on  bended  knees, 
The  queen  confers  her  titles  and  degrees. 
Her  children  first  of  more  distinguish'd  sort, 
Who  study  Shakspeare  at  the  inns  of  court, 

REMARKS. 

Et  jo  gagerois  que chez  le  comraandeur, 
Villandri  priseroit  sa  seve  ct  sa  verdeur. 

Dlspreaux. 

St.  Evremont  has  a  very  pathetic  letter  to  a  noblemun  in 
disgrace,  advising  him  to  seek  comfort  in  a  good  table,  and 
particularly  to  be  attentive  to  these  qualities  in  his  cham- 
paigne. 

Ver.  560.  Bladen— Hays.]  Names  of  gamesters.  Bladen 
is  a  black  man.  Robert  Knight,  Cashier  of  the  South- Sea 
Company,  who  fled  from  England  in  1720,  (afterwards  par 
doned  in  1742  )  These  lived  with  the  utmost  magnificence 
at  Puris,  and  kept  open  tables  frequented  by  persons  of  the 
first  quality  in  England,  and  even  by  princes  of  the  blood  of 
France. 

Ibid.  Bladen,  &c.]  The  former  note  of '  Bladen  is  a  black 
man,'  ia  very  absurd.  The  manuscript  here  is  partly  obli 
terated,  and  doubtless  could  only  have  been,  Wash  black- 
moors  white,  alluding  to  a  known  proverb.  Scribl. 

Ver.  507. 

Her  children  first  of  more  distinguish'd  sort, 
Who  study  Shakspeare  at  the  inns  of  court,] 

III  would  that  scholiast  discharge  his  duty,  who  should 
neglect  to  honour  those  whom  Dulness  lias  distinguished  ;  or 
•uffer  them  to  lie  forgotten,  when  their  rare  modesty  would 
have  left  them  nameless.  Let  us  not,  therefore,  overloo* 
the  services  which  have  been  done  her  cause,  by  one  M 
Thomas  Edwards,  a  gentleman,  as  he  is  pleased  to  call  hir" 
self,  of  Lincoln's-inn  ;  but  in  reality,  a  gentleman  only  t.f 
the  Dunciad ;  or,  to  speak  him  better,  in  tho  plain  language 
of  our  honest  ancestors  to  such  mushrooms,  a  gentleman  of 
the  last  edition:  who,  nobly  eluding  the  solicitude  of  hw 
careful  father,  very  early  retained  himself  in  the  cause  a 


800         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Impale  a  glow-worm,  or  virtu  profess, 

Shine  in  the  dignity  of  F.  R.  S.  570 

Some,  deep  free-masons,  join  the  silent  race, 

Worthy  to  fill  Pythagoras's  place  : 

Some  botanists,  or  florists  at  the  least, 

Or  issue  members  of  an  annual  feast. 

REMARKS. 

Dulncss  against  Shakspeiire,  and  with  the  wit  and  .earning 
of  his  ancestor  Tom  Thimble  in  the  Rehearsal,  and  with 
the  air  of  good  nature  and  politeness  of  Caliban  in  the  Tem 
pest,  hath  now  happily  finisher!  the  Dunce's  progress,  in  per 
sonal  abuse.  For  a  libeller  is  nothing  but  a  Grub-street 
critic  run  to  seed. 

Lamentable  is  the  Dulness  of  these  gentlemen  of  theDun- 
ciad.  This  Fungoso  and  his  friends,  who  are  all  gentlemen, 
have  exclaimed  much  against  us  for  reflecting  his  birth,  in 
the  words,  '  a  gentleman  of  the  last  edition,'  which  we  here 
by  declare  concern  not  his  birth,  but  his  adoption  only;  and 
mean  no  more  than  that  he  is  become  a  gentleman  of  the 
last  edition  of  the  Dunciad.  Since  gentlemen,  then,  are  so 
captious,  we  think  it  proper  to  declare,  that  Mr.  Thomas 
Thimble,  who  is  here  said  to  be  Mr.  Thomas  Edward's  an 
cestor,  is  only  related  to  him  by  the  Muse's  side.  Scribl. 

This  tribe  of  men,  which  Scriblerus  has  hero  so  well  ex 
emplified,  our  poet  hath  elsewhere  admirably  characterized 
in  that  happy  line, 

A  brain  of  feathers,  and  a  heart  of  lead. 

For  the  satire  extends  much  farther  than  to  the  person  who 
occasioned  it,  and  takes  in  the  whole  species  of  those  on 
whom  a  good  education  (to  fit  them  for  some  useful  and 
learned  profession)  has  been  bestowed  in  vain.  That  worth- 
ess  band 

Of  ever-listless  loiterers,  that  attend 
No  cause,  no  trust,  no  duly,  and  no  friend  ; 
who,  with  an  understanding  too  dissipated  and  futile  for  tho 
offices  of  civil  life;  and  a  heart  too  lumpish,  narrow,  and 
contracted  for  those  of  social,  become  fit  for  nothing;  and 
go  turn  wits  and  critics,  where  sense  and  civility  are  neither 
required  nor  expected. 

Ver.  571.  Some,  deep  free-masons,  join  the  silent  race.] 
The  pool  all  alonz  expresses  a  very  particular  concern  for 
this  silent  race.  Ho  has  here  provided,  that  in  case  they 
will  not  waken  or  open  (as  was  before  proposed)  to  a  hum 
ming-bird  or  a  cockle,  yet  at  worst  limy  may  he  made  free* 
masons;  where  taciturnity  is  the  only  essential  qualifier 
tion,  as  it  was  the  chief  of  the  disciples  of  Pythagoras 


THE  DUNCIAD.  301 

Nor  pass'd  the  meanest  unregarded  :  one 
Rose  a  Gregorian,  one  a  Gormogon  : 
The  last,  not  least  in  honour  or  applause, 
Isis  and  Cam  made  Doctors  of  her  laws. 

Then  blessing  all, '  Go,  children  of  my  care, 
To  practice  now  from  theory  repair.  580 

All  my  commands  are  easy,  short,  and  full : 
My  sons  !  be  proud,  be  selfish,  and  be  dull. 
Guard  my  prerogative,  assert  my  throne  ; 
This  nod  confirms  each  privilege  your  own. 
The  cap  and  switch  be  sacred  to  his  grace ; 
With  staff  and  pumps  the  marquis  leads  the  race ; 
From  stage  to  stage  the  licensed  earl  may  run, 
Pair'd  with  his  fellow-charioteer  the  sun. 
The  learned  baron  butterflies  design, 
Or  draw  to  si'k  Arachne's  subtile  line ;  590 

REMARKS. 

Ver.  570.  A  Gregorian,  one  a  Gormogon:]  A  sortof  lay- 
brothers,  slips  from  the  roots  of  the  free-masons. 

Ver.  584.  Each  privilege  your  own,  &c.]  This  speech 
of  Dulness  to  her  sons  at  parting,  may  possibly  fall  short 
of  the  reader's  expectation ;  who  may  imagine  the  goddess 
might  give  them  a  charge  of  more  consequence,  and,  from 
such  a  theory  as  is  before  delivered,  incite  them  to  the  prac 
tice  of  something  more  extraordinary,  than  to  personate 
running  footmen,  jockeys,  stage-coachmen,  &c. 

But  if  it  be  well-considered,  that  whatever  inclination 
they  might  have  to  do  mischief,  her  sons  are  generally  ren 
dered  harmless  by  their  inability;  and  that  it  is  'he  common 
effect  of  Dulness  (even  in  her  greatest  efforts)  to  defeat  her 
own  design  ;  the  poet,  I  am  persuaded,  will  be  justified,  and 
it  will  be  allowed  that  these  worthy  persons,  in  their  several 
ranks,  do  as  much  as  can  be  expected  from  them. 

Ver.  585.  The  cap  and  switch,  &c.j  The  goddess's  po 
litical  balance  of  favour,  in  the  distribution  of  her  rewards, 
deserves  our  notice.  It  consists  of  joining  with  those  ho 
nours  claimed  by  birth  and  high  pbice,  others  more  adapted 
to  the  genius  and  talents  of  the  candidates.  And  thus  her 
great  forerunner,  John  of  Leyden,  king  of  Munster,  entered 
on  his  government  by  making  his  ancient  friend  and  com 
panion,  Knipperdolling,  general  of  his  horse,  and  hangman. 
And  had  but  fortune  seconoeu  i.Is  great  schemes  of  refor 
mation,  it  is  said  he  would  have  established  his  whole 
household  on  the  same  reasonable  footing.  Scribl. 

Ver.  590.     Arachne's  subtile  line;]     This  is  one  of  the 


most  ingenious  employments  assigned,  and  therefore  recom 


line ;]     T 
ignod,  and 


802         POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  judge  to  dance  his  brother  sergeant  call, 
The  senator  at  cricket  urge  the  ball ; 
The  bishop  stow  (pontific  luxury  !) 
A  hundred  souls  of  turkeys  in  a  pie; 
The  sturdy  'squire  to  Gallic  masters  stoop, 
And  drown  his  lands  and  manors  in  a  soup. 
Others  import  yet  nobler  arts  from  France, 
Teach  kings  to  fiddle,  and  make  senates  dance. 
Perhaps  more  high  some  daring  son  may  soar, 
Proud  to  my  list  to  add  one  monarch  more.          600 
And,  nobly  conscious,  princes  are  but  things 
Bom  for  first  ministers,  as  slaves  for  kings, 
Tyrant  supreme  !  shall  three  estates  command, 
And  make  one  mighty  Dunciad  of  the  land !' 

More  she  had  spoke,  but  yawn'd — All  nature  nods  : 
What  mortal  can  resist  the  yawn  of  gods? 
Churches  and  chapels  instantly  it  reac.h'd  : 
(St.  James's  first,  for  leaden  G —  preach'd:) 

REMARKS. 

mended  only  to  peers  of  learning.  Of  weaving  stockings  or 
the  webs  of  spiders,  see  the  Phil.  Trans. 

Ver.  501.  The  judge  to  dance  his  brother  Reneanl  call;] 
Alluding  perhaps  lo  thai  ancient  and  solemn  dance,  entitled, 
A  call  of  sergeants. 

Ver.  5<J8.  Teach  kings  to  fiddle.]  An  ancient  amuse 
ment  of  sovereign  princes  (viz.)  Achilles,  Alexander,  Nero; 
though  dcfc.  ised  by  Themistocles,  who  was  a  republican. — 
Make  senates  dance,  either  after  their  prince,  or  to  Poin- 
toiso,  or  Siberia. 

Ver.  600.  What  mortal  can  resist  the  yawn  of  gods?] 
This  verse  is  truly  Homericol;  as  is  the  conclusion  of  tho 
action,  where  the  great  mother  composes  all,  in  the  same 
manner  as  Minerva  nl  the  period  of  the  Odyssey.  Il  may 
indued,  seem  a  very  singular  epitasis  of  a  poem,  to  end  as 
this  does,  with  a  great  yawn  ;  but  we  must  consider  it  as  the 
yawn  of  a  god,  and  of  powerful  effects.  It  is  not  out  of  na 
ture  ;  most  long  and  grave  councils  concluding  in  this  very 
manner:  nor  without  authority,  the  incomparable  Spenser 
having  ended  ono  of  the  most  considerable  of  his  works 
with  a  roar;  but  then  it  is  the  roar  of  a  lion;  the  effect* 
thereof  are  described  as  tho  catastrophe  of  the  poem. 

Ver.  607.  Churches  and  chapels,  &c.]  The  progress  of 
tho  yawn  ia  judicious,  natural,  and  worthy  to  be  noted 


THE  DUNCIAD.  303 

Then  catch'd  the  schools ;  the  Hall  scarce  kept 

awake ; 

The  convocation  gaped,  but  could  not  speak :       610 
Lost  was  the  nation's  sense,  nor  could  be  found, 
While  the  long  solemn  unison  went  round: 
Wide,  and  more  wide,  it  spread  o'er  all  the  realm, 
E'en  Palinurus  nodded  at  the  helm  ; 
The  vapour  mild  o'er  each  committee  crept ; 
Unfinished  treaties  in  each  office  slept ; 
And  chielless  armies  dozed  out  the  campaign  ! 
And  navies  yawn'd  for  orders  on  the  main. 

O  muse  !  relate  (for  you  can  tell  alone, 
Wits  have  short  memories,  and  dunces  none)        620 

REMARKS. 

First  it  seizeth  the  churches  and  chapels,  then  catcheth  the 
schools,  where,  though  the  boys  bo  unwilling  to  sleep,  the 
masters  are  not.  Next  Westminster  -hull,  much  more  hard, 
indeed,  to  subdue,  and  not  totally  put  to  silence  even  by  the 
goddess.  Then  the  convocation,  which  though  extremely 
desirous  to  speak,  yet  cnnnot.  Even  the  house  of  com 
mons,  justly  called  the  sense  of  the  nation,  is  lost  (that  is  to 
Bay  suspended)  during  the  yawn  ;  (far  be  it  from  our  author 
to  suggest  it  could  be  lost  any  longer!)  but  it  spreadeth  at 
large  over  all  the  rest  of  the  kingdom  to  such  a  degree,  that 
Palmurus  himself  (though  as  incapable  of  sleeping  as  Jupi 
ter)  yet  noddeth  for  a  moment;  tde  effect  of  which,  though 
ever  so  momentary,  could  not  but  causa  some  relaxation 
for  the  time,  in  all  public  affairs.  Scribl. 

Ver.  610.  The  convocation  gaped,  but  could  not  speak  ;] 
Implying  a  great  desire  so  to  do,  as  the  learned  scholiast  on 
the  place  rightly  observes.  Therefore,  beware,  reader,  lest 
thou  take  this  gape  for  a  yawn,  which  is  attended  with  no 
desire  but  to  go  to  rest,  by  no  means  the  disposition  of  the 
convocation;  whose  melancholy  case  in  short  is  this:  she 
was,  as  is  reported,  infected  with  the  general  influence  of  tho 
goddess:  and  while  she  was  yawning  carelessly  at  her  ease, 
u  wanton  courtier  look  her  at  advantage,  and  in  the  very 


ed  and  despised.  Bentl. 

Ver.  (515,  618.  These  verses  were  written  many  years 
sgo,  and  may  be  found  in  the  state  poems  of  that  time.  So 
that  Scrihlerus  is  mistaken,  or  whoever  else  have  imagined 
this  poem  of  a  fresher  date; 

Ver.  G20.     Wits  have  short  memories,)]     This  soemi  tt 


304        POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Relate  who  first,  who  last  resign'd  to  rest  , 

Whose  heads  she  partly,  whose  completely  bless'd  •, 

What  charms  could  faction,  what  ambition  lull, 

The  venal  quiet,  and  entrance  the  dull  ; 

Till  drown'd  was  sense,  and  shame,  and  right,  and 

wrong  — 
O  sing,  and  hush  the  nations  with  thy  song  ! 

In  vain,  in  vain,  the  all-composing  hour 
Resistless  falls  !  the  muse  obeys  the  power 
She  comes  !  she  comes  !  the  sable  throne  behold 
Of  night  primeval,  and  of  Chaos  old  !  630 


be  the  reason  why  the  poets,  when  they  give  us  a  catalogue, 
constantly  call  for  help  on  the  muses,  who,  as  the  daughters 
of  memory,  are  obliged  not  to  forgot  any  thing.  So  Homer, 
Iliad  B.  II. 


Ei  pri  'Oxu^TTixJj?  Mou(T«i,Aiof  seiyioxoio 
euyoeripij,  yav)(0-*.*9'  — 

And  Virgil,  &n.  VII. 

Et  meministis  enim,  divie,  et  mcmorare  potestis: 

Ad  nos  vix  Leuuis  famaj  perlabitur  aura. 
But  our  poet  had  yet  another  reason  for  putting  this  task 
upon  the  muse,  that,  all  besides  being  asleep,  she  only  could 
relate  what  passed.  Scribl. 

Ver.  C24.  The  venal  quiet,  and,  &c.]  It  were  a  problem 
worthy  the  solution  of  Mr.  Ralph  and  his  patron,  who  had 
lights  that  we  know  nothing  of,  which  required  the  greatest 
effort  of  our  goddess's  power  —  to  entrance  the  dull,  or  tf< 
quiet  the  venal.  For  though  the  venal  may  be  more  unruly 
than  the  dull,  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  it  demands  a  much 
greater  expense  of  her  virtue  to  entrance  than  barely  to 
quiet.  Scribl. 

Ver.  629.  She  comes!  she  comes!  &c.]  Here  the  muse, 
like  Jove's  eagle,  after  a  sudden  stoop  at  ignoble  game, 
soareth  agnin  to  the  skies.  As  prophecy  hath  ever  been  ono 
of  the  chief  provinces  of  poesy,  our  poet  hero  foretels  from 
what  we  feel,  what  we  are  to  fear;  and,  in  the  style  of  other 
prophets,  hath  used  the  future  tense  for  the  preterit  ;  since 
what  he  says  shall  be,  is  already  to  be  seen  in  the  writing* 
of  some  even  of  our  most  adored  authors,  in  divinity,  phi 
losophy,  phyiics,  metaphysics,  &.c.  who  are  too  good,  in 
deed,  to  be  named  in  such  company. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  SOS 

Before  her,  fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 

And  all  its  varying  rainbows  die  away. 

Wit  shoots  in  vain  his  momentary  lires, 

The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires. 

As  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea's  strain, 

The  sickening  stars  fade  off  the  ethereal  plain; 

As  Argus'  eyes,  by  Hermes'  wand  oppress'd, 

Closed  one  by  one  to  everlasting  rest ; 

Thus  at  her  felt  approach,  and  secret  might, 

Art  after  art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night :  640 

See  skulking  truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 

Mountains  of  casuistry  heap'd  o'er  her  head  ! 

Philosophy,  that  lean'd  on  Heaven  before, 

Shrinks  to  her  second  cause,  and  is  no  more. 

Physic  of  metaphysic  begs  defence, 

And  metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  sense  ! 

See  mystery  to  mathematics  fly  ! 

In  vain  !   they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave,  and  die. 

Religion,  blushing,  veils  her  sacred  fires, 

And  unawares  morality  expires  650 

REMARKS. 

Ibid.  The  sabln  throne  behold.]  The  sable  thrones  of 
Night  and  Chaos,  here  represented  as  advancing  to  extin 
guish  the  light  of  the  sciences,  in  the  first  place  blot  out  the 
colours  of  fancy,  and  damp  the  fire  of  wit,  before  they  pro 
ceed  to  their  work. 

Ver.  641.  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled,]  Alluding  to 
the  saying  of  Democritus,  that '  Truth  lay  at  the  bottom  of  a 
deep  well,  from  whence  he  had  drawn  her;'  though  Butler 
Bays,  '  He  first  put  her  in,  before  he  drew  her  out." 

Ver.  649.  Religion,  blushing,  veils  her  sacred  fires,] 
Blushing  aa  well  at  the  memory  of  the  past  overflow  of  Dul- 
PPSS,  when  the  barbarous  learning  of  so  many  ages  was 
wholly  employed  in  corrupting  the  simplicity,  and  defiling 
the  purity  of  religion,  as  at  the  view  of  these  hnr  false  sup 
ports  in  the  present;  of  which  it  would  be  endless  to  recount 
the  particulars.  However,  amidst  the  extinction  of  all  other 
lights,  she  is  said  only  to  withdraw  hors!  as  hers  alone  in 
its  own  nature  is  unexlinguishable  and  eternal. 

Ver.  650.  And  unawares  morality  expires.]  It  appears 
from  hence  that  our  poet  was  of  very  different  sentiments 
from  the  author  of  the  Characteristics,  who  has  written  a 
formal  treatise  on  virtue,  to  prove  it  not  only  real,  but  dura' 


806          POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS 

Nor  public  flame,  nor  private  dares  to  shine  ; 
Nor  human  spark  is  left,  nor  glimpse  divine ! 
Lo  !  thy  dread  empire,  Chaos  !  is  restored  ; 
Light  dies  before  thy  uncreating  word : 
Thy  hand,  great  Anarch  !  lets  the  curtain  fall, 
And  universal  darkness  buries  all. 

REMARKS. 

ble  without  the  support  of  religion.  The  word  Unawares 
alludes  to  the  confidence  of  those  men  who  suppose  that 
morality  would  flourish  beat  without  it,  and  consequently  to 
the  surprise  such  would  be  in  (if  any  such  there  are)  who, 
indeed,  love  virtue,  and  yet  do  all  they  can  to  root  out  the 
religion  of  their  country. 


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>  and  signers'  names ;  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
$  States  and  amendments  ;  together  with  the  Inaugural, 

<  first  Annual,  and  Farewell  Addresses  of  Washington. 
\  Complete  in  one  volume,  12mo.,  illustrated  ;  bound 

<  in  handsome  muslin  and  morocco. 

\  This  work  contains  the  lives  of  Washington  and 
nearly  twenty  of  his  officers  and  associates  in  the 
great  struggle  which  resulted  in  the  peace,  union 
and  strength  which  we  now  so  eminently  enjoy.  It 
will  be  found  a  very  valuable  acquisition  to  the  public 
or  private  library,  as  the  perusal  of  no  one  volume  in 
the  English  language  will  give  the  reader  such  a 
general  idea  of  the  leading  incidents  of  the  revolution 
as  this. 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON. 

THE  LIFE  OF  GEORGE  WASHINGTON,  COMMANDER-IN- 
CHIEF  OF  THE  AMERICAN  ARMY,  THROUGH  THE 
REVOLUTIONARY  WAR,  AND  THE  FIRST  PRESIDENT 
OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  :  BY  AARON  BANCROFT, 
D.  D. 

"  General  Washington  was  from  his  youth  devoted 
to  his  country ;  his  character  therefore  cannot  be  por 
trayed  without  bringing  into  view  many  important 
public  transactions.     It  has  been  the  endeavor  of  the 
author  to  display  the  character  of  the  man  who  is  the 
subject  of  the  work,  by  exhibiting  in  a  connected 
view  his  actions  and  his  writings ;  and  he  has,  as  far  < 
as  possible,  made  this  exhibition  in  the  person  of  J 
General  Washington." 

In  giving  the  lives  of  the  conspicuous  men  oi  nny 
period,  it  is  believed  the  best  history  of  that  period  is 
given  ;  and  in  this  instance,  in  giving  the  life  of 
Washington,  it  is  believed  to  combine  with  it  a  very  $ 
graphic  account  of  the  prominent  events  and  struggles  > 
of  the  American  Revolution. 

The  whole  is  contained  in  one  neat  volume,  12mo.,  < 
illustrated  and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth.  J 


THE  AMARANTH : 

OB,  TOKEN  OF  REMEMBRANCE. 

This  work  is  issued  annually,  with  entirely  new 
matter,  and  is  elegantly  bound  in  morocco,  richly  gilt 
sides  and  edges,  and  is  embellished  with  six  beautiful 
steel  engravings,  by  the  first  artists. — 1  vol.  12mo. 


COWPER'S  POEMS. 

THE  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  WILLIAM 
COWPER,  TOGETHER  WITH  HIS  POSTHUMOUS 
POETRY,  AND  A  SKETCH  OF  HIS  LIFE,  BY  DOCTOR 
JOHNSON. — Fine  Portrait. 

This  is  acknowledged  to  be  the  most  complete 
edition  of  Cowper  published  in  this  country  ;  and  is 
bound  in  1  vol.  12mo,  muslin,  plain  edges  ;  do.  gilt 
and  elegant  Saxony,  gilt  sides  and  edges. 


ADVICE  TO  YOUNG  LADIES. 

ADVICE  TO  YOUNG  LADIES,  ON  THEIR  DUTIES  AND 
CONDUCT  IN  LIFE  :  BY  T.  S.  ARTHUR,  AUTHOR  OF 
"ADVICE  TO  YOUNG  MEN,"  "THE  MAIDEN," 
"  WIFE,"  AND  "MOTHER,"  &c.  &c. 

In  his  introduction,  the  author  says  :  "  Right  modes 
of  thinking  are  the  basis  of  all  correct  action.  This 
is  just  as  true  of  one  sex  as  the  other.  Although 
man  has  the  power  of  abstract  tho'ight,  and  the 
faculty  of  reasoning,  in  a  higher  degree  li,an  woman, 
yet  woman  is  none  the  less  a  rational  being,  and 
must,  in  all  the  various  relations  in  life,  come  under 
the  guidance  of  right  reason."  1  vol.  large  18mo., 
bound  in  gilt  and  plain  bindings. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

LIFE  AND  CAMPAIGNS  OF  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE  : 
Giving  an  account  of  all  his  engagements,  from  the 
siege  of  Toulon  to  the  battle  of  Waterloo  ;  also 
embracing  accounts  of  the  daring  exploits  of  his 
Marshals  ;  together  with  his  public  and  private  life, 
from  the  commencement  of  his  career  to  his  final  im 
prisonment  and  death  on  the  rock  of  St.  Helena. 
Translated  from  the  French  of  M.  A.  Arnault  and 
C.  L.  F.  Pauckoucke.  New  edition,  in  one  volume, 
illustrated. 

This  is  unquestionably  the  most  authentic,  impar 
tial,  and  complete  life  of  this  great  General  now 
before  the  American  public.  The  translator  says  in 
his  preface  :  "In  ushering  these  memoirs  of  the  life 
of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  into  the  world,  we  have  not 
confined  ourselves  to  the  splendid  work  of  M.  A. 
Arnault ;  but,  in  order  to  furnish  a  faithful  narrative, 
public,  political,  and  private,  have  availed  ourselves 
of  every  species  of  information  afforded  by  different 
authorities,  from  the  commencement  of  the  career  of 
the  departed  hero,  to  the  closing  scene  of  his  last 
hours  at  St.  Helena. 


BURNS'  POETICAL  WORKS. 

THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BURNS,  INCLUDING  4 

SEVERAL    PIECES    NOT    INSERTED    IN    DR.    CuRRIE's  5 

EDITION  ;  EXHIBITED  UNDER  A  NEW  PLAN  OK  AR-  ' 
RANGEMENT,  AND  PRECEDED  BY  A  LlFE  OF  THE  ^ 
AUTHOR,  AND  COMPLETE  GLOSSARY. 

In  comparing  this  edition  with  others,  it  will  be  < 
found  to  possess  several  advantages.  It  contains, 
besides  a  number  of  other  pieces  not  inserted  in  Dr. 
Currie's  edition,  The  Jolly  Beggars,  a  cantata  replete 
with  humorous  description  and  discrimination  of 
character ;  as  also  his  celebrated  Holy  Willie's 
Prayer,  a  piece  of  satire  unequalled  for  exquisite 
severity  and  felicitous  delineation. 

In  the  editions  hitherto  published,  no  regard  is  paid 
to  method  or  classification.     In  this,  the  poems  are 


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A     000  026  559     5 


disposed  according  to  their  respective  subjests,  and 
divided  into  books. 

This  edition  is  all  comprised  in  one  very  neat  12rno. 
volume,  with  a  beautiful  portrait,  and  may  be  had  in 
the  various  elegant  and  plain  styles  of  binding 
described  above. 


PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS. 

THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS  FROM  THIS  WORLD  TO  THAT 
WHICH  IS  TO  COME  :  DELIVERED  UNDER  THE  SIMILI 
TUDE  OF  A  DREAM, —  BY  JOHN  BUNYAN.  ALSO, 
CONTAINING  ORIGINAL  NOTES,  AND  A  LlFE  OF  THE 
AUTHOR,  BY  THE  REV.  THOMAS  SCOTT,  CHAPLAIN 
TO  THE  LOCK  HOSPITAL. 

Bunyan  says  of  this  work,  that  when  formed  into 
a  book,  and  shown  to  his  friends, 

"  Some  said,  John,  print  it ;  others  said,  Not  so  ; 
Some  said,  It  mi  jnt  do  good ;  others  said,  No." 

The  public  will  not  hesitate  in  determining  which 
opinion  was  the  result  of  the  deeper  penetration ;  but 
will  wonder  that  a  long  apology  for  such  a  publica 
tion  should  have  been  deemed  necessary,  when  it  is 
stated,  that  perhaps  this  work  has  had  a  more  univer 
sal  and  lasting  sale  than  any  other  in  the  English 
language,  save  that  of  the  Bible. 

The  work  is  complete  in  1  vol.  12mo.,  embellished 
with  fine  engravings,  and  is  done  up  in  plain  and  rich 
bindings,  suited  to  the  tastes  and  means  of  all  classes. 


MILTON  AND  YOUNG. 

CONTAINING  PARADISE  LOST,  IN  TWELVE  PARTS,  BY 
JOHN  MILTON  ; — AND  NIGHT  THOUGHTS  ON  LIFE, 
DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY  ;  TO  WHICH  is  ADDED, 
THE  FORCE  OF  RELIGION,  BY  EDWARD  YOUNG, 
D.  D. 

This  volume  is  printed  in  very'neat  style,  with 
line  around  the  page,  and  contains  a  fine  portrait  of 
Milton ;  and  is  bound  in  the  varieties  spoken  of  above 
in  connection  with  Cowper's  Poems. 


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